


Forsaken

by Smoke3723



Series: Eagle 3: The Fighter [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed III Spoilers, Assassin's Creed: Forsaken, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoke3723/pseuds/Smoke3723
Summary: A novelisation of Haytham's playthrough of Assassin's Creed 3, adjusted for historical accuracy.





	1. A Deadly Performance

The ticket was for the Theatre Royal's production of The Beggar's Opera on the evening of Thursday 18 April 1754. "The name of the target is too sensitive, you will only be given your instructions once you arrive," a Master named Harrison advised, "Before you attend you must be prepared to leave the country and never return; say you are travelling to Russia on some pretext. Come straight back here once the contract is done."

Haytham Kenway accepted the paperwork and instructions, keeping his curiosity to himself. The assignment was unusual for two reasons: he didn't know the identity of his target ahead of time and he would be forced to flee the country afterwards. The former was simply unusual, the latter warned he could not linger after killing his target.

"Sir. Sir? Everything all right sir?" It was Holden's gravelly voice.

Haytham snapped back to reality. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just preoccupied, that's all."

Arrangements were made, official paperwork signed: Haytham was travelling to Russia on business. A large chest was the only luggage he carried: within the locked box were spare clothes, equipment, tools, books, journals and all the other essentials. When Holden arrived at his door Haytham invited him in, mostly so they could speak privately but also for help with the box.

"Don't forget your invitation. Master Birch will be meeting you inside."

"Thank you."

Holden's words revealed another anomaly. If Reginald Birch, the leader of the Order's British chapter, were personally supervising the contract then whatever tonight was about, it was _big_.

Haytham left his weapon belt, including sword and pistol, packed in the sea chest with his beloved black tricorne with gold trim. Haytham could hardly retrieve them from the cloakroom ten minutes after curtain-up. They arrived as the swarm of the crowd was at its peak, making it impossible for prying eyes to distinguish them from any other patron.

"Where shall I retrieve you once you're done?"

"In front of the theatre. And be quick about it, I don't expect to be here long."

"I'll bring her 'round at once."

Haytham didn't raise his beaked hood, lest he appear out-of-place amongst the crowd. "Invitation please," the usher asked as he walked into the foyer. Haytham showed his ticket and walked past. The usher called "Shall I take your coat?" but Haytham ignored him.

Haytham's unique collared cloak was completely black, except for the top half that sported a golden coat-of-arms of Haytham's own design. The decorative 'vines' surrounded a cross crosslet and the Freemason's pyramid and eye, concealing the Assassin logo and Haytham's own variation of the Brotherhood's emblem.

Haytham would have preferred to spend some time listening to conversations and admiring the building's crimson architecture and rich fixtures. Unfortunately another usher rang the bell and called "Ladies and gentlemen, you are kindly requested to please take your seats!"

He worked his way to the stalls entrance, showing his ticket and following the directions of the ushers to his seat. Once Haytham was at the correct row he walked past those already seated, whispering "My apologies", until he reached the vacant seat.

"Evening Haytham," said the man on Haytham's right.

"Reginald," Haytham replied without looking.

Reginald whispered "I can't tell you how happy I was to hear they mounted this revival: Gay's best work by far. Have you seen it before?"

"Once. My father brought me here as a child, though I remember little of it. And I don't suppose tonight will afford me the luxury of a proper viewing either."

"No, I'm afraid it won't. On to business then: Michael Ormond and his amulet."

_That_ explained everything. Since Miko was a leading member of the Brotherhood's arch-rivals they would quickly realise who was responsible for Miko's death, and even Haytham couldn't avoid their concentrated wrath if he remained in England.

Reginald asked "Can you see him?"

Haytham blinked slowly as he always did when transitioning to Eagle Vision. Two examinations of the stalls revealed nothing so Haytham looked to the boxes in the walls. He worked them in columns, top to bottom and left to right.... There! The first box to the right of the stage, second from the top, had a golden silhouette that stood up, looked out amongst the theatre, and then retreated inside. "He's seated in one of the boxes above."

"The stairs are watched, you'll need to find another way up."

"I already have."

Haytham stood to depart, but instead of going the way he came he pushed past Reginald and continued to the left. Again whispering "A thousand pardons" and even putting his hand on one man's shoulder to stop him standing up, Haytham left the seating area and wandered towards the exit. By now the actors were on stage, reciting their lines.

* * *

Lighting a theatre required a careful balance. The audience needed enough light to find their seats, but chandeliers along the walls would leave the high-price private boxes with a large distracting glare obscuring their view. Lamps or light stands in the aisles were too dangerous, since a single knocked wick would leave hundreds trapped in the inferno. The solution at the Theatre Royal was to have chandeliers high over the stalls, illuminating the aisles but not the side walls holding the boxes. The boxes were lit by their own private lamps inside, leaving the walls gloomy to the point of total darkness. After all, who could climb up the architecture along the boxes? More to the point, who _would_?

The answer was Haytham Kenway. Once he reached the dark recesses along the viewing boxes, Haytham raised his hood and climbed up to the ledges of the viewing boxes. With all the patrons looking to the stage as the performance began, no-one noticed the fingers of a man climbing horizontally along the box towards the stage door. Haytham could hear one of them whisper "Jeremy's really burning up the boards tonight! He's a marvel!" At the columns between each box Haytham checked to ensure there was enough of a grip to continue; he had to climb up at one point, then down at another, in order to get to the last column of viewing boxes.

The top-most box was empty so Haytham climbed in and checked the ushers weren't around. Haytham walked to the stage door that allowed access to the hanging fixtures of the set; the door was locked but Haytham quickly picked it open and closed it behind him. Haytham looked at the endless ropes and set pieces that were concealed behind the curtains as stage-hands instructed "Man the lines! Flats in place! Stand by!"

Haytham began by jumping onto a wooden moon that was suspended by a sturdy-looking rope. The damn thing couldn't support the added load and it slipped through the pulley, fortunately the fall stopped before the moon came into view of the audience. Haytham quickly swung off the moon and onto the brace of another piece of scenery, which supported his body without complaint. One of the stage-hands pulled the scenery back into place. Haytham continued to discreetly climb along the stage, listening to the actors project their lines to the back of the theatre.

From somewhere below someone whispered "I've got a bit of stage fright!"

Someone else answered "A little Dutch courage will put some bloom in your cheek."

Haytham completed his climb over the stage to the corresponding door on the opposite side of the theatre. Again he picked the lock and closed the door behind him. Haytham lowered his hood and did not silence his footsteps as he walked to the seat behind Miko and sat down. On the stage the leading lady was singing her first musical number of the night.

"Haytham," Miko whispered, "You could have come to me, we'd have found another way."

"Yes. But then you would have known." Haytham placed his hand on the back of Miko's chair, his palm over Miko's heart. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"As am I."

Haytham flicked his Hidden Blade: out, in, as though simply testing the mechanism. Miko did not scream, the blade did not penetrate his chest. Without moving from his seat Haytham checked Miko's neck: indeed there was an amulet, a one-inch diameter medallion with a hole in the centre where the leather strap was tied. Haytham tore the amulet from the corpse, slipped it into his breast pocket and stood to leave.

Only when Haytham turned to leave the box did he see the child; a boy no more than eight years old, eyes wide in fear. The boy must have seen Haytham claim the amulet but it was unlikely he realised that Miko was dead. Even if the child had seen everything there was one rule Haytham would never break: spare the innocent. So he put his finger to his lips to hush the boy.

The boy remained frozen, his eyes wide with fear, but eventually he blinked. Haytham took that as acceptance and then left the box. As he turned the corner two women were walking up the aisle; Haytham gestured for them to proceed first, as any gentleman would, and they walked into the box adjacent to Miko's with a smile of acknowledgement. When they were out of sight Haytham walked slowly and confidently from the theatre.

As Haytham turned the corner he heard a woman's soft voice calling "Duncan? Duncan!" Was the young boy with those two women? Had he strayed into the wrong viewing box at the worst possible moment? Haytham imagined the women looking around, peeking into the adjacent boxes in order to find their boy, noticing that little Duncan was staring at the stationary man in the chair.

Right on cue there was a scream. By now Haytham was in sight of two ushers, so he pretended to be surprised and looked in the sound's direction. He looked to the ushers, indicating he expected them to investigate. Once the ushers had overtaken Haytham he turned and continued his slow walk towards the exit. In times like this a slow, confident demeanour was the key to hiding: nothing attracted attention like a man fleeing.

"You there! Stop!" Haytham froze and saw the man in front of him dive-tackled to the floor by one of the ushers. Another usher appeared and ordered "Search him for weapons!" The poor tackle victim was forced against the wall and searched. With silenced footsteps Haytham walked behind the occupied ushers.

When Haytham reached the stairs leading to the exit there was a log-jam, as the ushers were trying to stop people from exiting the building. Haytham walked through the doors to the balcony, above where he'd met Reginald. Here he lingered; the stage curtain had been dropped, people were pointing in the direction of the scream and speculating what the cause was. Haytham walked to the back row then from one side of the balcony to the other. Anyone who noticed him now would swear he came from the balcony, opposite to where Miko was.

People were fleeing the theatre and the ushers weren't bothering to contain those who didn't come from the wing where Miko was killed. Haytham was careful to avoid the gazes of the ushers, to conceal the distinct scar on his mouth, and vanish amongst the crowd. Without drawing the slightest attention to himself Haytham found his way out of the theatre and onto the street.

Holden was waiting for him, standing ready to open the door. Haytham climbed in and sat down. When Holden returned to the driver's seat he asked "How was your evening, sir?"

Haytham shrugged. "Rather dull, truth be told."

* * *

Tradition demanded the Order keep an active den on Fleet Street; even the historical record noted the Brotherhood owned several properties in the area. The current den sat in front of Saint Bride's Church, just another office building in the printer's district. During the journey Haytham examined Miko's amulet in more detail. The outermost ring of the disc seemed to be of emerald with a golden edge; the innermost ring looked dark bronze and had two rows of 12 symbols each. Chips, scratches and a slightly jagged edge indicated the amulet was very old. Haytham wondered what was so special about it.

Holden unloaded the chest and showed Haytham to the lounge maintained for situations such as this. Master Harrison, the man who briefed Haytham for the assignment, took the amulet and disappeared into his study. Between sleep and meals, Haytham continued his journalling until a suitable packing crate could be found to get him out of London.

* * *

At the lunch room the next day Haytham spotted a familiar face: Rupert Martin, another of the British Masters. Haytham took a seat next to him. "Got a moment to talk?"

Rupert looked up with a smile. "Ah, Haytham! Did you hear? There was a murder at Covent Garden!"

Haytham played along. "No! What happened?"

"Some poor fellow was stabbed in the middle of a performance, right in his viewing box."

"Dear me, the city grows more dangerous by the day. Any word on the killer, identifying marks and such?"

"A Spaniard with a scarred lip, they say."

Haytham expected as much. Even if the boy didn't identify him, the women and ushers who saw him in the moments after the scream would have.

Rupert continued "They've ruled out robbery. Perhaps a business deal gone sour, or something more.... _lurid_." Then Rupert looked serious: "They can't deny your accession to Master now, Haytham."

"Should I be wary of stabbing pains in the back?"

"The Bulldog will never be satisfied of course. Ian is waiting to see how your next assignment goes."

Haytham nodded. Of course he wanted to be recognised as one of the finest of the Order, but the politics of who received that recognition was something he left to the likes of Rupert.

* * *

That afternoon, less than 24 hours after Miko's death, Haytham was summoned to the conference room. He stood before the full panel of the English Masters, who confirmed his elevation into their ranks. Haytham drifted through the boring pomp and ceremony and waited for his next assignment.

Reginald Birch held up the amulet Haytham had taken from Miko. "Gentlemen: I hold here an artefact crafted by those who came before."

"Ah yes," Haytham muttered, "Those who lived in, lorded over and then were lost from the world."

Reginald gave the floor to Master Harrison, who explained, "If our research is to be trusted, this amulet is actually a key to some kind of storehouse. What it contains is unclear: weapons, knowledge, artefacts, a combination of each or none at all."

"Whatever it is," Reginald crowed, "I am certain it will prove a boon to us all."

Braddock demanded "And if the enemy should find it first?"

"They won't, we've seen to that." Reginald indicated the amulet. "And this brings us to your next assignment, Master Kenway. We want you to travel to America, locate the storehouse and take possession of its contents."

"Do we know exactly where this storehouse is?"

Harrison gave a reluctant face. "Somewhere in this area." He unrolled a map of North America. "Sorry, it's the best we can do."

At first Haytham didn't see the marked search area, then he realised the shaded portions of the map were bound by the Saint Lawrence River in the north and New Granada in the south, continuing west into New France as far as the Mississippi. Haytham winced: "I am yours to command Master Birch, but a search of this size will require more than just myself."

"Of course." Reginald handed him an envelope. "Our agents in the Colonies who can aid you in this endeavour. With them at your side, you'll want for nothing."

Haytham examined the list of meaningless names and ranks.

William Johnson (adept)  
Charles Lee (recruit)  
John Pitcairn (assistant)  
Famille de Coulon de Villiers

Birch passed another set of papers. "We've booked you passage to Boston, your ship departs at dawn."

"Then I'd best be off." Haytham bowed and walked to the exit.

As Haytham left Reginald called "I knew our faith in you wasn't misplaced. Go forth Haytham, and bring honour to us all!"


	2. Journey to the New World

Of the ten packing crates that left the St Bride's den nine were decoys: only one contained Haytham Kenway, his personal luggage, and another chest of materials he would need to study for his American assignment. It was still dark when Holden let him out of the crate. After showing the paperwork to the crew of the Providence they hauled the luggage into the cabin together and said goodbye. It would take at least five weeks to reach America and the crew would have no idea how far they had to go until they sighted land to the west.

A passenger's individual cabin had no door to lock, only a thick fabric curtain for privacy. For this reason Haytham always carried a series of bells linked together on a long string. When arrayed behind the curtain, anyone who moved it would create enough noise to rouse him from sleep. Haytham had not survived this long by being careless.

Haytham didn't want anyone whispering they had seen the man with the scarred chin until they were far away from England. He therefore emerged from his cabin only during the quietest periods and using his stealth training to minimise anyone seeing his face. Haytham occupied himself by writing his journal, studying the materials Reginald had given him, and listening to the sounds of the crew. Those on duty sang about hauling bowlines, those off duty spoke about their dissatisfaction with the captain, one Samuel Smythe. Their whispers painted Smythe as a poor leader, ill-tempered and cruel; it was clear the crew had no respect for him. It seemed Smythe was one of those people who liked to show he was superior to everyone, and would only back down with the threat of physical harm.

* * *

Late on the morning of the second day the Providence was still in sight of Europe but had no chance of stopping there. At last Haytham could escape the claustrophobic confines of his cabin and stroll along the deck. Captain Samuel Smythe was also topside, going through some paperwork. Haytham decided to see how much truth the was to the crew's grumbling. "Captain Smythe? I just wanted to thank you personally for taking me aboard, and apologise for any inconvenience it may have caused."

"Inconvenience would be an understatement."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow?"

"My ship was held in port for _two days_ that we might accommodate you! I lost several contracts as a result!"

"I had no idea...."

"Of course not, you nobles are all the same!"

Haytham wandered along the deck, away from the irate Smythe. "....And then all will be well," whispered a low voice. It was the conspiratorial tone rather than the words that drew Haytham's attention. It was spoken by a sailor wearing a red sash around his waist.

One of the three men Red Sash was talking to (a balding man with a full beard and moustache) asked "You sure about that?"

"Of course, have I ever led you astray?"

"No....But it doesn't sit right with the others."

"Have faith, my friend. You'll see."

Baldy trumpeted "Well well! Seems our _esteemed guest_ has deigned to grace us with his presence!" Haytham turned to face him, as did most of the other crew. Baldy continued "You might want to head back to your cabin: top deck's no place for Tender Parnells!" With the exception of Red Sash, the crew laughed.

Haytham said calmly "So I thought. And yet here you are."

The crew jeered again, except for Red Sash. Baldy challenged "Fancy yourself a joker, eh? Let's see how funny you find _this!_ " Baldy stepped forward, raising his fists.

Red Sash chided "That's enough Graves!"

"Stay outta this!" Baldy replied.

At first Haytham ducked all of Graves's attacks. When Graves began to aim correctly, Haytham merely blocked them. Graves put even more force behind his strikes: Haytham knocked him down with a single blow intended to subdue rather than harm.

Another of Red Sash's companions stood up and cried "Look at this Hector! Thinks he can swagger on up here and declare himself king of the castle!"

The crowd jeered their approval. Red Sash stood up: "Please friends, call this off! If the captain sees us—"

"To hell with the captain!" the challenger spat, "And to hell with you Mills! Whose side are you on anyway?!" He pushed past Red Sash to Haytham.

This time Haytham didn't bother dodging and parrying the blows. Instead he sent his fist into the challenger's stomach, leaving him winded and unable to fight for at least an hour.

The balding Graves stood up again. "I'm ready to go again if you are," he said over the noise of the crew.

Haytham let his discomfort show. "This is unwise!"

"Why's that? You think I'm afraid of _you_?"

"No," Haytham answered, " _But you should be_." Graves didn't even try to vary his technique. Haytham blocked the opening blow from memory with his right hand while simultaneously delivering his left fist to Graves's jaw. The man fell back onto the deck; Haytham stood over him and asked "Do you yield?"

"Never!"  Graves drove a foot into Haytham's ankles, sending Haytham onto his back. By the time Haytham recovered from the trip Graves was on his feet, brandishing a knife. "How do you like _these_ odds?"

Frankly they were very good: Graves had only learned to fight through whatever drunken brawls he managed to survive, while Haytham had been trained in combat since he was old enough to stand. As soon as Graves lunged Haytham grabbed his wrist, pulled the knife from it, and then pushed Graves away.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Captain Smythe screamed.

Haytham turned to face him. "Captain!"

"Explain yourself at once Mister Kenway!"

"These four—"

"We were just passing the time with a bit of sport, Captain," the red-sashed Mills explained.

The captain spat "How about you pass the time by doing your god-damned jobs instead?! I wasn't aware I was paying you to loll about!"

Haytham began to disperse with the crowd. "Oh, I nearly forgot." Without pausing Haytham threw the knife at the deck near Graves; Graves leaped back as his weapon lodged in the wood half an inch from his bare toe. "There's your knife back."

"A word please, Mister Kenway," the captain grumbled. Haytham was led to Smythe's cabin. Once they were behind closed doors Captain Smythe said "I don't care much for you, Mister Kenway. I've had nothing but trouble since you came on board."

"Your troubles have nothing to do with me," Haytham replied defensively.

"Look....I don't want to argue. In fact I need a favour."

"Oh this _is_ rich." Haytham was reluctant to lend his skills to such a petty tyrant.

The captain sat at his desk. "I suspect some of the men intend to mutiny. As I cannot trust any of them, I am compelled to turn to you." He put his feet on the table and poured himself some wine.

A would-be mutiny was hardly a surprise to Haytham. "And why should I help you?"

"Because if they do intend to betray, I'm the only hope you have of reaching America alive."

Haytham considered. The voyage would be easier if the captain were in his debt, and if Haytham could earn enough of Smythe's trust perhaps he could nudge him towards reform.

"Well? What will it be?"

Haytham feigned reluctance. "If what you say is true, then what other choice do I have?"

"Thank you—"

"But let me be clear," Haytham warned in a dark voice, "Should you ever dare threaten or insult the crew again, I'll not hesitate to cut off your head _myself_. Are we understood?" It was probably over-the-top but threats were the quickest way to get men like Smythe to change their behaviour.

Fear entered Captain Smythe's face and he quickly nodded his head.

Cheerily Haytham said "Excellent!" He snatched the wine goblet and swallowed a mouthful. "Good day."

* * *

Haytham could hardly pass as a crewman so it was difficult for him to walk amongst the people as he normally did. He tried to befriend them by joining in their games, such as draughts and nine-man's morris.  There was a new game Haytham hadn't played before: it was called fanorona and came from Madagascar. Haytham found the game easy to pick up and quite addictive. Unfortunately the most common reply to his enquiries were variations on "I've got nothin' ta say to _you!_ "

The helmsman was only marginally more helpful when Haytham asked him "Do you expect we'll have a pleasant crossing?"

"It is a quiet time of year, though rogue storms and troubled waters are not unheard of. But no need to fret, at worst they'll prove an inconvenience. I'm more worried about pirates and rogue privateers."

"Have you encountered them before?"

"Aye. But the Providence is a strong ship and her crew well-trained. They will surely keep us safe."

* * *

In the lead-up to dinner the galley became crowded with rowdy sailors, who would make music and merriment as they waited to fill their stomachs. Haytham tried to hang around and listen to gossip but he was noticed by Graves the brawler. The man spat "You looking for another fight, is that it? Go away!"

Haytham complied. He walked absently past the next bulkhead; a voice from the hidden corner muttered "Quite the basting you gave Graves and Quill."

Haytham turned and saw the red-sashed sailor who tried to break up the fight. "Wasn't by choice."

"Aye, blockheads the both of them." He took a swig from his mug. "Where are my manners? Louis Mills, pleased to meet you."

Haytham shook his hand. "Haytham Kenway. Should I be watching my back?"

"I think the boys learned their lesson. They're not normally so nasty, honest. It's just the past few crossings have been a bit....rough."

"Oh?"

"Captain's trying to cut costs. Reduced rations, lower wages, more dangerous cargo.... It's put us all on edge."

"Is there cause for concern then?"

"Not if I can help it. But the captain needs to think about the way he treats his men...."

* * *

The next morning Haytham resumed his interviews, starting with the ship's surgeon. "Good morning doctor."

"To you as well."

"A question if I may. Are you a crewman aboard this ship or are you just taking passage?"

"A bit of both, actually. I've been commissioned by the Royal Navy to study maritime illness. I'll be observing the crew during the journey. It seems officers and passengers fare better on the open sea than the common sailor, I hope to discover why that is."

"Well I wish you well in your endeavours."

"As do I. Thank you for the kind words."

* * *

What surprised Haytham was that even though he knew his goal was to find the mutinous crew, there was no golden glow in Eagle Vision. Sailors like Graves glowed red, some such as Mills glowed blue, most didn't glow at all; but absolutely _none_ of them were gold. Was Miko's amulet somehow interfering with his gift? Eagle Vision was a product of Precursor blood and the amulet was of Precursor make. Haytham ran a control test, concentrating on revealing the captain or certain other crewmen, and it revealed normal golden auras. Eagle Vision had its own limits, however: it only revealed someone's _current_ intentions, not those of the past or future. It could not help if the mutineers were still trying to muster the courage to rebel, or if their plans had been abandoned after Haytham demonstrated his fighting prowess.

Then Haytham heard a disturbing piece of gossip. "He's cut our rations again. Says we're not provisioned for such luxuries."

"It's not right that he should feast on lamb and wine, while we're stuck with sea horse and hard-tack!"

"Someone needs to have words with him."

"Mills tried. Captain turned him away."

"Then he must try again, with more force if need be!"

Captain Smythe had obeyed the letter of Haytham's threat, avoiding overt insults and threats to the crew, but his leadership was still poor. Didn't the man realise that _not_ sharing his personal food supply with his hungry subordinates was just as bad as his verbal abuse? Haytham decided not to challenge Smythe again; for all he knew the shortage was genuine and therefore would only be solved by reaching their destination.

* * *

Word quickly spread that the scurvy had struck, that dreaded disease that consumed everyone who spent too long at sea. Nearly 15 years earlier the disease had single-handedly decimated Commodore Ansen's entire Royal Navy squadron before they could even reach their destination, let alone fire a single shot, and still no-one knew anything about the disease. Some said it was because sailors didn't eat good food, others because of sailors' innate laziness; but Haytham had been eating the same foods as the scorbutic sailors and performed less work than any of the crew yet he was disease-free. The surgeon put the sailors on purgatives to rebalance their bodily humours but the poor men did not improve.

On the 28th evening of the voyage the curtain of Haytham's cabin was pulled back, tripping the various bells.  "Mister Kenway?" Smythe peeked from behind the curtain.

Haytham sat up on his bed. "Captain?"

The captain whispered "Whatever they're up to, I believe it's coming to a head."

"Then I'd best get to work." Haytham secured his belongings and wandered the corridors.

The first conversation Haytham eavesdropped on had an angry edge.  "He's a shifty fella! Won't hardly ever take his hat off! Keeps his face hidden, too! So we can't see him watching—"

" _Quiet!_  Here he comes! Make like you're working!"

Haytham smiled and continued to the galley, where the evening music and dancing was in full swing. Haytham's empty stomach and frustrated investigation were clearly audible when he approached another crewman and asked "You there! I have some questions for you!"

"That's nice!" he said cynically, "But I ain't got time to gossip, probably wouldn't have anything useful to share anyway. You want information, try the cook. Or the doctor, everyone's always chatting them up."

Haytham decided to start with the ship's doctor. "A word doctor, if you have a moment?"

"Have you taken ill?"

"No, nothing like that. I was wondering if you'd heard any rumblings of trouble aboard."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Unusual complaints or grievances? Men taking issue with the captain or cargo?"

"You sound just like Fairweather! Like I told him, I've been far too busy with my research to notice anything not work-related."

"And where might I find Master Fairweather?"

"The galley's your best bet. Now, _if_ you'll excuse me?"

Haytham left the sick bay and wandered to the galley. He remembered that the cook was mentioned as a source of information so he went there. By way of greeting the cook said "Won't be serving for another couple of hours. Some biscuits in the barrel if you're desperate."

"Actually I've come with a question."

"What's that?"

"Have any of the men been acting strange recently? Said anything that struck you as out of the ordinary?"

The cook shrugged. "The boys cry about the rations, as if there's anything I can do about it, but beyond that I ain't heard much. My advice? James Fairweather, his ears are always open."

"And where do I find him?"

"Right behind you actually. He's the one sitting on the barrel."

Haytham turned around and noticed a Negro sailor who was indeed sitting on a barrel, watching the music and dancing in the galley. "Are you James Fairweather?"

"Aye...."

"Haytham Kenway, pleased to meet you."

"I know who you are." The man spoke in a soft, slow and deliberate voice.

"I was hoping you could answer some questions."

"I figured as much....but not here. Follow me." James led Haytham topside, where night had fallen and there was virtually no-one around to hear them. James asked "So what do you want to know?"

Haytham kept his own voice low. "Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary since we left port? Anything that gives cause for concern?"

"Some of the men have been gathering at night on the upper deck.... I've only caught bits of their conversations, so I couldn't say for certain.... But I suspect it bodes ill...."

"Is it a mutiny they're planning?"

"All I know is they've little love for the captain. Mills has been trying to talk them down but there's only so much one man can do...."

"Thank you for the information."

James walked away mumbling "I only wish to see us reach the Colonies alive...."

Haytham wandered aimlessly as he considered the information. A cadre of disgruntled sailors were planning _something_ , and Louis Mills at least was trying to talk them down. Could Mills's efforts indeed be containing the mutineers, at least enough for them to _not_ register in Eagle Vision? But Captain Smythe had been adamant they were taking action tonight....

"Evening sir," said the helmsman.

Haytham realised he was next to the ship's wheel. "How are things?"

"Calm and quiet, just the way I like it. What brings you topside?"

"Thought I'd wander a bit. Stretch my legs, that's all."

"Take care where you tread. The deck hides all manner of danger in the dark."

Haytham wandered along the stern of the ship and then heard a splash. Instantly he looked down and saw a number of barrels floating in the water. Even now the lights from the ship allowed Haytham to see the barrels had a large white X painted on them. Was someone throwing _cargo_ overboard?

Quickly Haytham found his way down to the hatch the barrels had been dropped from; particles of dry white paint confirmed he had the correct location. From here Haytham wandered to the cargo hold, where three barrels were indeed missing from the palettes. Another barrel was also painted with a large X. The mark was sloppy, the dripping wet paint permitted to run down and then dry. "Curious.... _Most_ curious...."

Haytham reported his findings to the captain later that evening. "That's all you've found? You need to discover what it is they're planning!"

Haytham rolled his eyes. "Your crew's a tight-lipped bunch, but I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Louis Mills had told Haytham the captain was accepting more dangerous cargo in an effort to keep his ship making money. Was this what they were dumping? Did they fear carrying the stuff, or hope Captain Smythe would lose his contracts? No, those barrels were _floating_ so they couldn't be filled with something like gunpowder. Were the barrels only partly-filled then? Could someone be tossing ration barrels overboard to starve the crew? No, the mutineers would be starving themselves as well.

Haytham concentrated on finding the barrel-dumpers rather than mutineers but Eagle Vision still revealed nothing. A determined foe could subvert Eagle Vision of course but doing so was difficult: you had to conspire with an accomplice (or three), then draw lots to see who would actually execute the plan. Eagle Vision only reacted to true intent, not idle conspiracy, and thus only revealed the conspirator with the short straw. If the lots were drawn immediately before the plan was carried out then Eagle Vision would be useless. The problem with this scenario was that the barrel-dumpers would have to draw lots _every night_ before deploying the makeshift buoys. How do you convince people to draw lots for barrel-dumping duty every night? Unless all the conspirators somehow knew about Eagle Vision....

The next night Haytham looked for anyone who knew about Eagle Vision and there were still no golden glows. Maybe Miko's amulet _was_ interfering with his gift after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"It's not right that he should feast on lamb and wine, while we're stuck with sea horse and hard-tack!"** The game's own dialogue reads "....while we're stuck with tinned fish and biscuits!" Unfortunately, tinned food would not be available for several decades so I had to change this line. 'Sea horse' was the generic name used for whatever meat was served to the sailors (which may indeed have been chevaline). Hard tack is the ship's biscuits, and refers to its texture. In theory crew could bring their own private food, but in practise only the officers could afford it.


	3. Mutiny on the 'Providence'

Five days later, on day 33 of the voyage, Haytham gave Captain Smythe another update. "Each night it's the same: I scout one area and they drop the painted barrels from another. I'm going to need to recruit an extra pair of eyes, maybe Louis Mills or James Fairweather."

" _Why_ are they doing this?"

"Near as I can tell the barrels serve as markers. They're leaving a trail. I fear it's only a matter of time before whomever's following it—"

" _Ship ahoy!_ " the lookout called, "Jolly roger sighted aft!!"

"Beat to quarters men!" Captain Smythe screamed.

A distant cannon shot went off. Smythe grabbed his spyglass and looked in the direction indicated by the lookout. Haytham realised the ship was firing from too great a distance to hit anything, and there was no sound of a cannonball hitting the water.

"That was a blank, a warning cannon," Smythe thought aloud, "Seems they don't mean to sink us but board us instead." He stowed the spyglass and screamed "Man the cannons! Make ready to _fight_!" Smythe turned to Haytham: "I want you below decks."

"Why? Let me help you secure the ship!"

"Do you know how to rig a sail? To load a cannon, to wage war at sea?"

Haytham decided speaking of his limited sailing experience would be counter-productive and said nothing.

"I didn't think so. Now return to your cabin, or do I need to have you escorted?" Haytham descended the stairs and the captain screamed "Secure the hatch!"

Haytham was contemplating his next move when he heard his name being called. It was Louis Mills, a sabre stowed in his red sash.

"Have you been topside?" Haytham asked, "A ship's appeared and means to board us, and yet there's no sign of mutiny aboard. It doesn't make any sense...."

"Ah but it _does_."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you _really_ think you could escape from London so easily after what you did at the theatre? That we wouldn't notice? That we wouldn't follow?!"

Joy at solving the mystery formed Haytham's smile and happy tone. "Oh so _that's_ what this is about!"

"Surrender and I will see that you are treated with honour, _Assassin_." He spat the word as though it were the highest insult possible.

"If you want to treat me with honour, give me a sword."

Mills drew his blade. "Are you sure this is how you want to play it?"

When Haytham stepped back Mills lunged. Haytham let the concealed Assassin Gauntlet under his left sleeve block the sharp tip. Simultaneously Haytham raised his right hand, knocking Mills where he gripped the blade. Experience told Haytham where the blade would land, so he kicked it away and threw Mills into the bulkhead. Mills got to his feet, discovered his blade was beyond his reach, then raised his fists.

"Stop this Mills," Haytham urged, "I won't attack but I will defend."

Haytham backed towards the stairs leading topside. Mills charged forward to stop him so Haytham blocked and pushed Mills off-balance. Mills raised his fist at Haytham's neck, aiming for a vulnerable nerve ending where a hit would kill. Haytham struck Mills in the jaw; he fell back against a large piece of metal equipment, a blow to the head knocking him down. Haytham waited for the rogue crewman to move; when he didn't Haytham checked for breathing and pulse, only to realise his skull was caved in.

Haytham closed the man's eyes. "There's been too much death on our account, Mister Mills."

What now? If Haytham surrendered to the pirates he faced certain death and the loss of the amulet; a sea battle would harm the innocent sailors on the Providence. Haytham went topside to find Captain Smythe. Smythe was not pleased to see him. "I told you to stay below decks!"

"I did as you asked, only Mills was there waiting for me.  _He's_ the one that drew that ship here! There was no mutiny, only _him!_ "

"What do they want?"

"Me." A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

"Then they can have you!"

Haytham glared at Smythe. "Is that so?"

"They'll catch us anyway! There's nothing to be done!"

The sound of thunder reached Haytham's ears. "I can think of something." He turned to the large patch of cloud in the sky; a quick glance in Eagle Vision confirmed it was a suitable hiding place.

"You wish us to sail _into_ the storm?!"

"It's our only chance."

"I won't do it!"

Haytham turned to Smythe, who clearly feared the pirate ship more than he feared Haytham. Haytham ejected his Hidden Dagger and showed his weapon. "Then I will!"

"All right! All right!" Captain Smythe went to make arrangements.

Haytham breathed a sigh of relief as he returned the Dagger to his Gauntlet. He would never have harmed Captain Smythe, of course, but bullies like him only ever responded to threats.

* * *

Haytham let all the pieces fall into place. Obviously Mills had only realised Haytham was aboard the Providence after they departed London, otherwise they would have tried to capture him earlier. For a month Haytham had been looking for a non-existent mutiny and so Eagle Vision didn't find any mutineers. Mills was deliberately _ignoring_ Haytham's actions, which meant Haytham could act freely in front of him and so Mills shone blue in Eagle Vision. This explained everything up until Haytham started looking for the barrel-dumpers. Why hadn't Mills shone gold then?

Haytham carefully recalled when he saw Mills over the last few days, and when he realised what happened he gave a long sigh. At each meeting Mills had engaged Haytham in polite conversation; Eagle Vision required a degree of focus that prevented involved conversations and so Haytham always returned to normal vision when he spoke. The _only_ time Haytham had seen Mills in Eagle Vision recently was when Haytham was scouting for sailors who knew about his ability. This meant Haytham never actually saw Mills in Eagle Vision while looking for the barrel-dumpers.

Why hadn't Mills glowed gold when Haytham was looking for those who knew about Eagle Vision? The short answer was that Mills didn't, and instead of trying to thwart Haytham's ability he was actually 'interviewing' Haytham to discover the location of the amulet, or stopping him from seeing something he shouldn't.  _How_ could Haytham have missed checking Mills in Eagle Vision? He couldn't believe he was that sloppy at a time like this. If Miko's amulet wasn't interfering with Eagle Vision, the only other answer he had was the scurvy, which was known to cause confusion and dementia. If Haytham was indeed in the early stages....

"Since you've insisted on the storm," Smythe said with an air of arrogance, "You should know we barely have enough crew in working condition thanks to the scurvy."

"Then let me help. I helped crew a yacht once: I can climb and pull ropes and I know my knots."

"Very well. You'll have to put your precious hat and cloak away, though."

Haytham went to his cabin and dressed down. Mostly his duties involved securing anything on the deck that could move, grabbing and pulling lines and tying them with a designated knot. As they entered the storm someone screamed "Saint Elmo's Fire!" Haytham looked around and realised the sailors were all pointing high over their heads. The tips of the masts and the spars that held the sails seemed to be surrounded with a glowing blue-purple flame.

Haytham asked "Is that real fire?"

The crewman answered "No, it's actually a good sign. It means the patron saint of sailors is protecting us."

The storm clouds grew so thick they concealed the sun; the rain was so hard it obscured normal vision. The ocean swelled so high it seemed the waves would swallow the Providence whole; lightning raged at the centre of the storm, which was where they were now heading.

Suddenly there was a loud thud: a large cargo palette on the deck had broken free of its ropes, sending the crates and barrels everywhere. A couple of sailors were bowled over like ninepins. "We need those ropes secured!" Smythe screamed, "I told you this was madness!"

Haytham leaped off the quarterdeck and chased after the boxes. Two other sailors held the boxes in place as they tied the ropes again. The occasional crate that went overboard was simply abandoned. At last the deck was clear of anything moving, except for the crew.

Haytham returned to Captain Smythe and used Eagle Vision to gauge the distance to his hunter. Even though the Providence had as many sails as the pirates, even though they were sailing on the same wind, "They're still gaining on us!"

Smythe squinted but could only see a wall of rain and fog. Now he _really_ became angry: "All we have left are the side-sails and—"

"Calm yourself!" Haytham ordered, "I'll fix your sails for you."

Smythe relented: "Then you'll have to cut the ropes holding the sails in place." He pointed at the highest spars. "Deploy them and the crew will do the rest." As Haytham ran to climb the mizzenmast he heard Smythe scream "We need more speed! Loose the sails! Hector! Take the foremast! James, to the mainmast with you!"

When Haytham reached the highest spar on the mizzenmast he came close to the St Elmo's Fire. It seemed a dull hum came from the blue non-burning flame; Haytham wanted to keep his distance but he had to get close to the fire to cut the ropes. He flicked out a Hidden Blade and cut through each rope, letting the side-sails fall.

A lightning bolt cracked through the sky. The top part of the mainmast exploded and a large chunk of wood fell through the sails and rigging and wedged between the spars of the main and mizzen masts. A voice screamed "Heeelp!" Haytham climbed along the mizzenmast to the wedged wooden pole, which formed a convenient bridge between the spars of the mizzen and main masts. "Hurry!! I can't hold on much longer!" Haytham spotted the screamer on some of the rigging, just beyond the length of the wedged pole. "The rope's too wet! I'm slipping!!" Haytham didn't stop moving; he took a running jump and leaped at the dangling James Fairweather. He grabbed the man and their momentum allowed them to land on a platform on the foremast. "Thank you!  _Thank you!_ "

Haytham made sure James was unhurt and then looked around. The sails and rigging of the mainmast were ruined: there was no way the Providence could out-run the pirates now. Haytham shifted into Eagle Vision and looked around for the pirates: there they were, gaining on them....

 _Crack!!_  Another bolt of lightning, this time over the pirate ship. The pirates' mainmast collapsed and then fell forward, wiping out the foremast as it fell. The rigging connecting all the masts pulled the mizzenmast down after them.

Haytham gave a wide smile. The Providence had one ruined mast but the pirates had lost _three_ , leaving them at the mercy of the currents. Haytham would be long gone before the pirates recovered any sort of propulsion.


	4. Welcome to Boston

They were overdue by more than a month now. On day 60 of the voyage Haytham found himself morose, as though some barrier had been placed to prevent his mood from rising above a certain threshold. His body grew tired more quickly and recovered more slowly, but Haytham continued in his duties as most of the sailors were in far worse condition than he. Eventually his joints began to ache and it was too painful to even walk. On day 67 Haytham found the scar across his lips was weeping blood. The doctor explained this was indeed part of the scurvy: old scars would open up, healed bones would spontaneously break anew. The weeping blood became seeping and then it bled as though Haytham had only just received the cut. The doctor stitched it but even the holes of the stitches refused to close.

Disease scared Haytham more than anything else. It was a leading cause of human misery and yet Haytham could not fight it, could not convince it to change its ways and leave the innocent alone. Unless the Providence made landfall soon Haytham would end up like the other sailors: gums swollen so much it was impossible to eat, teeth that loosened and then fell out, waxy skin that bruised with a simple touch.

It was on the morning of day 72 that Haytham first decided to skip his rations. Apart from the weevils that were residing in the biscuits, Haytham's swelling gums and bleeding mouth made chewing painful. He was writing up his journal when a strange, unfamiliar sound came from high over the ship. Haytham dropped his quill and made the painful journey topside.

"Make ready for our arrival, men!" Captain Smythe ordered.

"Arrival?" Haytham asked, "I see no land, only this interminable fog!"

"The gulls tell us all we need to know. Climb into the crow's nest and you'll see."

It took Haytham some time to realise that the last time he heard the squawking was amongst seagulls in England. His joints couldn't face the climb upwards so instead he hobbled to the bow and entered Eagle Vision to pierce the fog. And indeed there was the land, dotted with buildings and the occasional spire.

* * *

Haytham walked off the gangplank with a handkerchief to his bleeding mouth. As he looked around he saw one man pushing through the crowd, a small dog—a Pomeranian—at his ankles. The man looked French, although his clothes were quite unkempt. He asked some questions of the Providence's crew, who pointed him towards Haytham. "Mister Haytham Kenway?" His accent indicated the English aristocracy.

"And you are?"

Immediately the stranger seized Haytham's swollen hand and shook it. "Lieutenant Charles Lee, Fifty-Fifth Regiment of Foot. Pleasure to make your acquaintance; I've been asked to introduce you to the city, help you settle in." Haytham spotted his luggage and went to collect it. Charles urged "Oh no sir! I've arranged porters to bring your things straight to the inn." The man signalled a couple of stevedores.

Haytham was glad he didn't have to lift the chests on his own. He found a bench and sat down.

"Are you all right sir?"

"Scurvy. I should be all right if we walk slowly."

"Shall I arrange a horse for you at the end of the pier?"

Haytham nodded. Charles left but his pet dog prevented him from vanishing into the crowd. Haytham walked slowly to the end of the docks and found Charles with two horses, the little Pomeranian peeking out of a saddlebag. Haytham mounted slowly and followed Charles at a walk. They arrived at the Green Dragon Tavern; Charles aided Haytham to a table inside the inn.

Haytham was too weak to do anything other than listen to the conversations. The barmaid was screaming at the barman "You lying, cheating, no-good son-of-a-bitch!"

Charles interjected with "Perhaps we've come at a bad time."

Suddenly the barmaid noticed him. "Oh! Don't be foolish, dearie! Please, sit. Fancy something to eat? A drink, perhaps? Or is it a _bed_ you require?" Her posture indicated occupied beds were an option.

"We've already let rooms here."

The barman said "Oh, yes! Of course! Messrs Lee and Kenway, was it? I'll have your bags brought up. Do you require anything further?"

"Only privacy."

* * *

Haytham had lost track of the date while on the Providence but it turned out the ship landed on Monday 1 July 1754. His room at the Green Dragon was spacious compared to his cabin and the bed was clean. For now Haytham could only eat foods that didn't require chewing: diced spinach, creamy soups, scrambled eggs and so forth. Lee took the room next door and ordained himself Haytham's personal servant. The illness prevented Haytham from objecting, even when Lee placed his Pomeranian on the table and let the dog eat from its master's plate. Charles asked "If I may sir, how did you....?" He drew a vertical line along his own mouth.

"Memento of my first encounter with the Templars. The scurvy has the disturbing habit of opening long-healed scars." Haytham decided to change the subject. "Are you John and Isabella's son?"

Charles smiled; "One and the same!"

Now Haytham could understand the man's eagerness: he was not from a Brotherhood family, and if he was raised in the aristocracy he would have been raised in a world where who you knew was more important than what you could do. "Have you been told why it is I've come to Boston?"

"No sir, Major-General Braddock gave—"

" _Edward_ Braddock?" Haytham tried not to flinch at the name.

"Yes sir, he's my superior in both the army and the Brotherhood."

"Go on."

"General Braddock gave me a list of names and bade me ensure you could find them." Charles gave Haytham his list:

William Johnson  
John Pitcairn  
Joseph & Louis Coulon de Villiers

"And have you had any luck with that?" Haytham asked.

"Yes sir. Captain Pitcairn is waiting with William Johnson at his fort in New York. While you recover I'll arrange a caravan to take us there."

"And the Coulons?"

Lee's face fell. "About a month ago Joseph was killed in an ambush by the Virginian Militia. Louis is currently at the French front lines, and in the aftermath of Joseph's death I couldn't contact him without questions being asked. Tensions are high: there is talk of war."

Haytham kept his thoughts to himself due to his ruined mouth. The ambush left them without a contact amongst the French, so there was always the possibility Joseph Coulon's death was arranged. Even if it was, Haytham's resources were thin and nothing would be gained by investigating it now. "How well do you know the others?"

"Only that I showed them the Order's mark and they didn't hesitate to join." After a long pause Charles said "Master Kenway....Why _have_ you come to Boston?"

"Prove yourself loyal to our cause and you may yet know our plans as well."

"I should like nothing better sir. In fact, I...."

"Yes? Out with it."

"Forgive me sir, I had hoped I might study under you. If I am to serve the Order I can imagine no better mentor than yourself."

Haytham smiled through the uninjured right side of his mouth. "Kind of you to say, but I fear you overestimate me."

"Impossible sir!"

Haytham diverted the conversation. "Boston's quite a lively city."

"There's all manner of things to see and do. When you're feeling better I suggest you walk the streets; who knows what opportunities you might discover?"

"Do you like it here, Charles?"

Lee considered. "There's a certain charm to Boston; to all the Colonies, really. Granted their cities have none of London's sophistication or splendour, but the people are earnest and hard-working. They've a certain pioneer spirit I find compelling."

Haytham agreed. "It's quite something really, watching a place that's finally found its feet."

"Feet awash in the blood of others, I'm afraid."

"Ah that's a story as old as time itself!" Haytham bemoaned, "And not one likely to change. We're cruel and desperate creatures, set in our conquering ways. The Saxons and the Franks, the Ottomans and the Safavids.... I could go on for hours. The whole of human history is nothing but a series of subjugations fuelled by our insatiable desire for more. And more and more, and more....And _more_...."

"I pray one day we rise above it."

Haytham countered "While you pray I'll act. We'll see who finds success first, hmm?"

Charles was wounded. "It was an expression."

"Aye, and a dangerous one. Words have power, Charles, wield them wisely."

* * *

What surprised Haytham was how quickly the scurvy halted and reversed. Within three days the aches and pains had gone; by the next week the holes around Haytham's stitches were completely closed; and two weeks after that his stitches fell out, allowing him to chew food again. Charles Lee busied himself with the transportation arrangements and Haytham took the opportunity to walk amongst the people.

On Monday 15 July Haytham and Charles made a brief journey to the general store to pick up the last consignment of supplies. En route they encountered a band of ruffians assaulting a portly man with glasses; one of them pulled a book from the man's belongings and tore at the pages. Haytham called "Hey!" at the thugs and put his hand to his sabre.

As soon as the thugs saw someone coming to the poor man's rescue they dropped whatever was in their hands and fled. Their victim tried to gather his things, just as a breeze began to pick up and scatter his pages. "No!"

Charles ran to the man's side as Haytham bolted after the scattered pages. The first one was easy: he grabbed it on the run. A second one became caught on the overhead sign: Haytham ran up the shop's wall and, just before gravity could take hold, leaped back off the wall and onto the sign to reach the page. Then the breeze changed direction; the remaining two pages swirled as though in a whirlpool and moved away. Haytham leaped from the sign, swinging on the spar of a street lamp to cover the distance quickly. With his next leap the page caught against Haytham's torso; the last one went up a three-story building. Haytham jumped upward along the windows and ran along the apex of the roof. The fourth and final page was then in-hand. The quickest way back to the ground was a tall flagpole adjacent to the building; Haytham leaped off the building and then loosened his hands, executing a controlled slide. Once he was on the ground he checked his belt, straightened his cloak and brushed himself down.

Suddenly there was a round of applause. A couple of people came up to Haytham offering him coins of various denominations, so Haytham held out his tricorne as a collection plate. A City Watchman said "He'll get a five-night stay in our finest cell if he keeps _that_ up!"

Haytham smiled to himself, then turned to the rescued pages. They were crumpled and torn of course but generally intact. Haytham found his way back to the assault victim, who Charles was helping to his feet.

"....You must be new to Boston!" the stranger said.

"What makes you say so?" Charles asked.

"You're still possessed of virtue, to stop and help an old lout such as myself." The stranger began to extend his left hand but quickly swapped it for his right. "Benjamin Franklin."

Charles shook his hand. "Charles Lee, and this is Haytham Kenway."

Haytham extended his own left hand; when Franklin gave the secret handshake of the Freemasons Haytham returned it. "Mister Franklin, I believe I have something that belongs to you." He presented the four pages.

"You....You _did_ it, you found the missing pages! That....That's impossible!  _You_ are a miracle worker, I shall sing your praises forever!"

Haytham gave a shy smile. "Thank you for the kind words but it was nothing really."

" _Nothing?_  They were gone, scattered! And yet here they are, reunited! Please Mister Kenway, let me treat you to lunch! It's the least I can do!"

* * *

Fortunately Charles and Franklin did all the chatting. Haytham simply eavesdropped, as he always did without a practical topic to structure his conversations around. The fast-talking Franklin was a Colonial post-master and was lingering in Boston to work on reforms to the Colonial mail services. The book Haytham had 'rescued' turned out to be an almanac Franklin had printed some years ago, intended as a gift to a colleague who expressed admiration for the work. Haytham asked "And those men who attacked you?"

"Don't let it worry you. Unfortunately I don't have many friends in Boston these days."

"And what did you do to earn their ire?"

"Started with a cartoon I drew, suggesting unification of the American Colonies. I said something similar at the Albany Conference recently, and so people have chosen to demonstrate their disapproval anew. Although I had hoped Stephen would have spoken with words rather than fists."

"Then you recognise your attackers?"

"Just one of them. I gave him some advice a while ago, the benefits of taking an older woman as a lover."

Haytham froze, his mouth open to receive the food skewered on his fork. When he recovered the ability to speak Haytham put the fork down on his plate. "Really? This I _have_ to hear!"

Benjamin smiled. "Very well then. The first is simple experience: the older woman has observed far more of the world than her younger counterpart, and this makes for more stimulating conversation. Makes other things more stimulating, but more on that in a moment."

"All right, the argument for experience makes sense. Please go on."

"As the woman's beauty fades, she must improve her utility. A thousand different services great and small are rendered by older women, making them some of the finest friends you can have during times of illness. There is hardly such a thing as an older woman who is not kind, compassionate and _good_."

"That's something of a generalisation."

"True, but the next reason is a known fact: older women cannot conceive. Age also allows one to avoid inconveniences such as the great pox: the effects will be obvious or the woman dead."

"And if the purpose of the exercise _is_ a child?"

"Then you take a fertile young wife, like everyone else. This essay was for those more interested in the transaction than the outcome. And this brings me to my next point: older women are far better at concealing your indiscretions. Even if the affair is exposed there is no scandal, for the world would rather you be exposed to an older woman's manners and counsels than those of a mercenary prostitute."

"Yes....I suspect _you_ 'd know all about that."

"And proud of it!" Benjamin boasted, "It is also how I know corporeal enjoyment with older women is at least equal, if not superior, to that with a younger. As the woman ages the deficiency of the fluids goes from a woman's higher part to her lower. Her face, neck and arms may grow lank and wrinkled but the lower parts remain as plump as ever. So if one focusses only on what is below the girdle, it is impossible to discern an older woman from a younger. And since in the dark all cats are grey...."

"You mad bastard!" Haytham laughed.

"Shall I continue?"

"There's _more?_ "

"Of course! The sin is less.  Relieving a maiden is a great responsibility; mishandled, it can ruin lives. While a younger woman may be traumatised by premature commerce, in older specimens it is a non-issue. And this brings us to the final argument: older women are so grateful for the attention!"

Haytham buried his face in his hands as he comprehended Benjamin's essay, laughing all the while. When he looked up Benjamin had taken no offence. "You make a compelling argument, Mister Franklin. One of these days I may put your hypothesis to the test."

"I highly recommend it!"


	5. Artefact Assault

The journey west through Massachusetts took them four weeks. Horses and drivers were changed at regular intervals so they were guided by men who knew the terrain. They followed the roads to a town called Albany on Hudson's River; here they were met by a messenger from William Johnson who then guided Haytham's caravan to Fort Johnson.

Haytham removed his Assassin Gauntlets before meeting with Johnson and Pitcairn, even though he felt naked without them. William Johnson was a burly Irishman with rich-looking clothes and a Native-style cloak. John Pitcairn was a clean-shaven Scotsman in civilian clothes but still moved with the unmistakable bearing of a military officer. Johnson showed the two visitors to their quarters and let them settle in.

It was on the morning of 17 August that they gathered to conspire. "Charles, I'm afraid you can't hear this conversation," Haytham announced. Charles bowed politely and left, closing the door behind him.

Johnson said of Charles "A good lad, if a bit earnest." Pitcairn nodded in agreement.

Haytham began by producing the map of America showing the search region. "We believe there's a Precursor site in the region and I need your assistance to find it." Then Haytham produced Miko's amulet. "The symbols on this amulet, do they mean anything to you?" Johnson and Pitcairn looked to each other, a dark look over their faces.

Johnson explained "The day before you arrived we had a break-in and all my papers were stolen. We've tracked the thieves to the west of here, a group of mercenaries who've settled in the region." His sour look indicated he also knew exactly who hired the mercenaries.

Pitcairn continued "We thought they were trying to find something on their own, but perhaps they're trying to beat us to the site."

Haytham thought aloud. "You two haven't been compromised, otherwise you'd be dead....It's possible they just wanted to prevent me from being able to access your papers....These mercenaries, do they simply work for the highest bidder?"

"Generally," Johnson answered, "Although they harass caravans if work is scarce."

"And do we know where they are?"

"I can take you there," Pitcairn offered.

"We'll bring Charles with us. William, I trust I can leave the amulet with you?"

* * *

Haytham strapped on his Gauntlets and weapon belt and mounted a black horse for the journey west. They didn't travel far before they came to a gully barricaded with a large wooden palisade. The tops of the logs had been sharpened into points; the only way to climb in was to go in via the occupied sentry box. The gate was large enough to allow a wagon but four guards stood to deter visitors. A poorly-painted sign nearby read Fort Saint-Mathieu, clearly placed as a joke.

"Is the plan to take the research or out-bid them?" Pitcairn asked, "We don't have ready cash for a bidding war, and I'm not sure we can raise enough before they give up."

Haytham looked to Charles and saw he agreed with Pitcairn. "Then we recover our stolen property."

They were all military men so they split up, secretly reconnoitring the fort and its guards. Apart from the four guards at the main gate and the one in the sentry box, the garrison were all inside the inner compound.

"The inner compound will be the barracks and magazine and so forth," Charles concluded, "But I can't see how the three of us, with pistols and sabres, can take the fort."

"I can," Haytham offered, "I'll silence the look-out in position behind the guards, then you two approach from the front. When I start taking them out from behind you charge in. We'll have the element of surprise on our side: half of them will fall before they even know what's happened." Charles looked skeptical. "Trust me, Charles. Get into position—but _wait_ for me to take the first shot!"

* * *

As Haytham had observed, the only way to climb the fort's walls were by climbing up to the sentry boxes. Haytham climbed up the box occupied by the sentry looking over the gate. He was just below the blind the guard was looking out of: since he was looking into the distance and not at the wall directly under him, Haytham was hanging in his blind spot.

Haytham listened to the footsteps as the sentry paced; the timing and weight of the footfalls told Haytham not only the position of the guard but also a good estimate of his height. Once the guard was in the correct position Haytham reached up with his Hidden Blade and jammed it through the sentry blind: the blade struck the man's neck, killing him silently.

The sentry's blind wasn't tall but Haytham could squeeze in through it. Haytham frisked his body, then grabbed the musket and looked to the gate. Lee and Pitcairn saw that Haytham now occupied the sentry box, so they wandered towards the four guards and swaggered around like lost drunks. Haytham jumped down onto the main road and silently approached the distracted guards; he signalled Charles and John to stand near the guards on the outermost left and right, so Haytham could take the two middle guards.

Haytham extended both Hidden Blades, silently walked between the two men, and with the precision and speed of endless practise drove the left and right blades into the respective larynx of each simultaneously. They remained alive long enough only to realise their major arteries had been severed. Lee and Pitcairn instantly grabbed the two guards nearest them and beat them unconscious. Haytham had no qualms about killing these men: Johnson had told them they preyed on the innocent.

As Charles and John moved the gate guards out of sight Haytham scouted. Inside the fort's palisade there was a second, inner fort with its own spiked fence posts. The outer courtyard had several rings of tents surrounding campfires, the mercenaries walking here and there doing their daily chores. Haytham pointed to the mercenaries cleaning their weapons and instructed "Take them out silently first."

Unfortunately Charles was not the stealthy type. He took too long to kill his designated target and a shot went off. Pitcairn muttered "So much for the element of surprise."

Haytham looked up to see the other mercenaries starting to charge at them, four abreast. Haytham's military service in the Coldstreams was over but not forgotten, so he barked that long-drilled order "Weapons at the ready!" Lee and Pitcairn, as well as Haytham himself, grabbed the nearest muskets and assembled in a firing line. Haytham called "Aim!.... _Fire!!_ "

As per their army training, the three of them had selected and aimed at different mercenaries. When the order was given they fired in near-perfect unison and three of the leading mercenaries fell; Charles pulled a pistol and quickly shot the fourth. Those charging behind them stumbled over the bodies, breaking the charge.

Haytham discarded his spent musket, drawing his sabre and ejecting his Hidden Dagger. Lee and Pitcairn quickly started reloading their muskets while Haytham moved forward. Two of them came in at once, wielding sabres; Haytham rolled out of the way, coming out of the roll behind one victim and plunging his Dagger into the man's side; he didn't wait for the other one to recover his footing and slashed at the man's neck from behind.

"Fall back!" one of the mercenaries screamed, "We'll be safe inside!"

Haytham came to guard and watched as the mercenaries retreated to the inner fort. He stowed the weapons and watched as they ran to the inner fortress and closed its large gate. Charles called "Sir!" and pointed to a cart nearby, forgotten in the battle, that held several barrels marked gunpowder.

Haytham half-smiled. "I'll distract them; you two arrange the barrels near the main entrance. Make sure they don't spot you!" While the others left Haytham unclasped his cloak in preparation for what would come next. His coat-of-arms only occupied the upper half of the cloak; Haytham folded it so only the black colour was visible and waved the cloak as a signalling flag. "Parley! Parley!"

The mercenaries' spokesman replied "We've got all the supplies and ammunition we need! Leave us alone and we won't come after you!"

As Haytham put his cloak back on he answered "I make the same offer! We have no quarrel, I simply wish to restore the papers of William Johnson to their rightful owner."

" _We_ are the rightful owners! We stole them fair and square!"

"I won't ask again!"

"Agreed!"

By now Charles had planted the last barrel against the inner gate. Haytham retreated a discreet distance, drew his own pistol and fired. The barrels detonated, the gate blew open and the three of them strolled in. All the occupants were lying around, either killed by the explosion outright or so badly injured that they couldn't fight.

Haytham found one of the conscious mercenaries. "Your kind has no use for books and maps, who put you up to this?"

"Never seen the man. It's always dead-drops and letters. But they always pay so we do the jobs."

"Well those days are done. Tell your employer _I_ said as much."

"And....Who shall I say you are?"

"You don't. They'll know."

Pitcairn identified the correct chest and Lee carried it with both arms. As they began to leave Pitcairn warned "Seems we have company!" A party of horsemen rode to the entrance to the fort; they dismounted, discovered the dead bodies lying at the outer perimeter, then went for their muskets.

Haytham ordered "Don't let go of the chest, Charles. We'll take care of this rabble."

Haytham and Pitcairn gathered all the firearms they could find, split them up, and then took cover behind the corner of the inner fort. On Haytham's mark they opened fire simultaneously, taking out the first two in the line. They discarded the spent weapons and picked up fresh ones, again aiming and firing roughly simultaneously; the next pair of thugs fell to the ground. By the time Haytham and John had picked up their third muskets the rest of the horsemen had charged through, attacking the intruders with bayonets.

"Sirs! Help!" Charles screamed. He'd dropped the chest and was trying to fight two thugs who'd gone straight for him.

Haytham struck down one of the attackers. "Charles, why worry about a handful of scoundrels with knives?"

"It's not the _scoundrels_ I'm worried about!"

Haytham and John quickly defeated the men who attacked them and moved to support Charles, whose plea for assistance came not from a lack of combat experience but because he was holding the chest in both arms. Although Charles was out-numbered, his attackers were out-flanked. "That seems to be the last of them."

* * *

Johnson was happy to see his familiar chest. "My thanks gentlemen."

They all pulled together to help Johnson in his research. Haytham kept the original amulet around his neck, under his clothes, and made several rubbings so they didn't have to risk the original. After six days of study William finally announced he had identified the symbols.

"These two symbols here are definitely Kanien'kehá:ka, and these two are definitely Algonquin. I can't identify the rest, but the territories of both those tribes are within our search radius. I know more of the former than the latter, so I recommend we travel amongst the Kanien'kehá:ka and ask them."

"Very well. Let us journey to the Ghannyen...." Haytham stuttered over the name. "Ghanni-kenny...."

William smiled. "Most Colonists just call them the Mohawk."

* * *

Their expedition departed in the first week of September 1754. William Johnson was clearly familiar not just with the territory and language but also the Mohawk people, who greeted him as an old friend. The Mohawk hospitality extended not just to William himself but also his companions; there was always a longhouse set aside for them, food was provided, and those who spoke English (or French) seemed happy to answer Haytham's questions about their culture and history. Unfortunately no-one had seen the amulet's symbols before; they agreed the symbols were Mohawk and Algonquin in style but they had never seen anything like it. Bribes and polite requests were handed out: if anyone found any clues please relay them to Fort Johnson.

Winter arrived. Colour disappeared from the sky and forests, from the roofs of buildings and the roads surrounding them. The entire landscape, natural and built, turned varying shades of white and grey as the season changed. The cold wasn't too severe: warm clothing protected the body and one could still navigate through the falling snow in daylight. Unfortunately their expeditions took them off major roads and the wagon kept getting stuck in the uncleared snow. It was less frustrating to return to Fort Johnson and wait for the melt.

With their expedition buried with the snows, Haytham and the others waited at Fort Johnson. Here Haytham observed the customs and cuisine of Colonial rather than Native America. One of his particular favourites was the turkey; a single animal would deliver more than 10 pounds of moist, savoury meat. Haytham liked Johnson and Pitcairn; they were honestly doing what little they could to advance the Brotherhood, and even with their limited influence had done very well in America.

"So William, tell me about yourself," Haytham asked one day.

"What's to tell? I was born in Ireland to Catholic parents, which I learned early in life severely limited my opportunities. So I converted to Protestantism and journeyed here at the behest of my uncle. But I fear Uncle Peter wasn't the sharpest of tools: he sought to open trade with the Kanien'kehá:ka but chose to build his settlements away from the trade routes instead of _on_ them. I tried to reason with the man but....As I said, not the sharpest. So I took what little money I earned and bought my own plot of land. I built a home, a farm, a store and a mill. Humble beginnings but well situated, which made all the difference."

"So this is how you came to know the Mohawk?"

"Indeed, and it has proved an invaluable relationship."

"But you've heard nothing of a Precursor site from your local contacts?"

"They have their share of sacred sites but they're all earthen mounds, forest clearings, hidden caves....  _Natural_ wonders, nothing like what you're describing.  No strange metal, no odd glows."

"It is well-hidden. Even from _them_ it seems."

* * *

It was 25 January 1755 when Charles Lee received a letter. "Major-General Braddock says he will land in Alexandria, Virginia around March, and we are to meet him there as soon as possible."

Since Alexandria lay on the coast they took the sea route: Fort Johnson to Albany, then along Hudson's River to New York, and then a ship further south to Alexandria. In the absence of any additional instructions they began to organise an expedition amongst the Powhatan Algonquin in the Virginia frontier, since it was still possible the amulet was Algonquin and Alexandria was still inside their search radius.

Pitcairn asked "If I may, I was curious about your past with Braddock? Charles tell us you have a history."

Haytham didn't quite trust the others with all his secrets yet so he chose his words carefully. "Edward was my supervisor once upon a time. We served together in the Coldstream Guards during the War of Austrian Succession; he helped school me in both the army and the Brotherhood. He was something of an idol of mine; he taught me restraint and humility." He'd spoken the truth of course, but fortunately none of them noticed the words Haytham _didn't_ speak.

* * *

Their wagon and provisions for the expedition were on order when Major-General Edward Braddock landed early, on 20 February. Charles secretly passed their letters to Braddock (and the replies) to arrange their clandestine meeting, which occurred after dark in an isolated alley. Charles was not privy to this meeting since he was not yet a sworn member. Physically Braddock had barely changed. He seemed slightly shorter, was definitely more portly, and despite the civilian clothes he still lived up to his nickname of 'The Bulldog' in appearance at least.

After the appropriate introductions Edward explained "The conflict between Britain and France would normally take priority over this Precursor site. Unfortunately, the enemy are watching Haytham and Charles so I can't change their assignments. Haytham: you and Charles are to continue your expedition as though Virginia is your intended destination."

Haytham nodded. "We've already made it appear that way. Officially Charles and I discovered we needed to interview the Algonquin late in the season and wintered at Fort Johnson; that was when William received your summons, it was simply convenient to journey together."

Braddock acknowledged him with the slightest of nods. "I can't let you call upon any of the Brotherhood's resources, not with war looming."

Haytham didn't like the way Braddock spoke as though war were inevitable. "Then we'll have to look at independent contractors to continue the search."

Braddock turned to the others. "John: I need you to return to New France and resume your official duties. Whomever controls Quebec controls North America, so your presence there will be paramount." After Pitcairn nodded Edward finished "William: as far as you're concerned we haven't met yet. I will be meeting you in an official capacity at a later date."

"By your command, General," William said, "But if I may: why keep the expedition going at all?"

"As I said, the enemy have observed Haytham and Charles working together. If their expedition ceases so soon after my arrival I will be advertising my true allegiances to all and sundry. Instead, by 'inadvertently' impeding the search, I am demonstrating my ignorance of Templars and Assassins."

Haytham noted that John and William looked at each other and then to Haytham. They clearly didn't believe Braddock's answers any more than Haytham himself; answers Braddock had obviously rehearsed so they couldn't object without appearing disloyal. And judging by their disdain, John and William also knew the consequences of appearing disloyal to Edward Braddock. They closed the meeting and left the alley via different routes.

* * *

Haytham wandered the streets randomly, reflecting on his reunion with Braddock. Even when Haytham looked up to Braddock the older man despised him: as a Master Edward knew of Haytham's family history and Eagle Vision and had only contempt for Haytham's pedigree. Braddock would have left Charles under Haytham's command for only two reasons: either Edward wanted Charles to spy on Haytham, or Braddock believed Charles had already been corrupted by Haytham's influence. Most likely the latter; Edward was disgusted by all things Precursor and would put men on such assignments only to get rid of them.

Haytham could accept Braddock's contempt but not the way he exploited his family connections. No matter what happened Edward would boast he was Reginald Birch's uncle, as though that automatically put him above investigation. People who overlooked Braddock's indiscretions had a tendency to be richly rewarded; those who questioned Braddock (like Haytham himself) tended to encounter difficulty in their health and careers. The man was the personification of everything that was wrong with the Order.

Haytham reminded himself to restrain his hatred. It had been more than six years since he'd known Braddock and there was still hope Edward had made amends and returned to reason.


	6. Wanted

Haytham explained the situation to Charles. The plan was still to assemble an expedition to the Powhatan Algonquin and ask them about the amulet, except they first needed to hire some extra hands. He and Charles asked around the inns and docks, looking for mercenaries who would honour their accepted contract and keep their noses away from their employer's business. One set of names were consistently reported as matching that criteria: Joseph and Thomas Fausett, part-time members of the Colonial Militia.

They arrived at the address where the Fausett Brothers were to be found. Haytham knocked twice with no reply and muttered "Wonderful."

Instantly Charles kicked the door in.

"Charles!" Haytham chided, but Lee just looked at him as though to ask What? Haytham shook his head and looked inside. Tables were overturned, violent dents marked the walls. "Seems we're not the only ones looking for the Brothers Fausett."

"Damn it....What do we do now?"

"We find them. Come, I'll show you how."

* * *

The first lesson was the basic blend. Haytham showed Charles how to observe the clusters of people, how to subtly mimic them and so vanish into anonymity. Armed with this knowledge Charles sat on a bench and sat down, clearly visible and utterly unseen. Haytham sat down next to him and whispered "Time to take a listen. With luck, someone here knows what happened to the Fausetts." Haytham strolled to where a number of people were leaning against a building wall, waiting for time to pass. He folded his arms together, leaned his back against the bricks, and stared at the ground.

And while this was happening the conversation of two nearby citizens continued, oblivious to the significance of two more people being unobtrusive in a public place. "....Should we tell his brother, do you think?" the woman asked.

"Not our business to meddle, even with the best of intentions," the man replied.

"But if you could have seen it! They were surely drunk, carrying on like that; and during the day no less!"

"Such scandalous behaviour I've come to expect from those two. We should send someone to retrieve them before any more damage is done."

"They stumbled off to the north-east, no doubt in search of a tavern or some other place of ill-repute."

Haytham left his position and walked casually towards Charles. When Charles stood up to follow Haytham whispered "Start asking people on the street; I'm heading for higher ground." Charles broke off and went to ask his questions. Meanwhile Haytham followed the main roads to the church he'd spotted earlier. He went around the back of the building and climbed the five storeys by scaling the exterior wall to the very top.

Haytham focussed on finding the Fausetts, or clues that would lead him to them. An Eagle-enhanced look towards the north-east revealed golden glowing auras of people walking through the streets, speaking to each other. There! Clusters of people gathering and talking: a gold mine of information that would surely offer more hints. He descended the church the way he came and continued to a street market, where the patrolling British Regulars were gossiping. Haytham 'examined' the produce at the various stalls as he listened.

"....I've asked the criers but they all plead ignorance," the first one said.

"Bugger that! They're lying!" his companion answered.

"Aye but what can I do? Threats slide off them and I'll not deign to grovel!"

"Actions speak louder than words, my friend. Arrest one and put him in the stocks: see if he's so glib then!"

"To do so without cause will set them singing songs about us. Last thing the city needs is town criers complaining about our abuse of authority."

"Then forget it. The crime is done, the blaggards gone, and those who know won't share their secrets. If the city wishes to harbour scoundrels let them pay the price for it."

Haytham decided these two would not offer anything relevant, so he drifted back to the main street looking for more whispers. He found them uttered in a conspiratorial tone by two more Redcoats. "....Then he says that one way or another it would be settled. I don't envy the man. He's grim times ahead."

"What do you think they're planning?" the other asked.

"All I know is it can't be good. Cutter was with them."

His companion winced. "Probably looking for a nice quiet place to do the deed. From what I hear tell, his work usually involves quite a bit of _screaming_."

"Which reminds me: best not to buy any meat tomorrow."

"Good call!"

Haytham wandered as he processed the information. One Fausett had been taken by some angry violent people, the second was unaccounted for; whomever had taken the kidnapped brother was known to the bent watchmen but the regular citizens were too frightened to inform the honest ones. As he pondered Haytham spotted Charles interviewing one of the citizenry. Haytham sat anonymously on a bench and listened to Charles's conversation.

The wealthy-looking civilian was saying "....I asked if I could help and they waved me away. Insisted it was all under control."

"How odd....Did they say what happened?" Charles asked.

"No: only that it was a trifling matter and he'd be returned home soon. There was some blood, though, so I wonder if it wasn't more serious than they let on."

"Where were they taking him?"

"Towards the docks."

Charles slipped some pennies for the information, thanked the man and moved on. Haytham stepped out from the crowd and made himself obvious to Charles, who was surprised to see him.

Haytham smiled his half-smile. "See Charles? We'll have the Fausetts in no time!"

" _One_ of the Fausetts, sir, the other is currently in the lock-up."

"At least he'll be safe there. The one who came through here is in the hands of the local torturer."

They walked towards the hilltop. Charles asked "Pardon me sir, but how do you know to do all this?"

"It's a requirement when you're raised in the manner I was." Haytham recited one of his lessons: "Perception is fundamental to our work. It guides the feet when running and climbing, informs the hands when striking and fighting. But most importantly it transforms the senses, and we begin to know the world in a different way." At the docks Haytham observed an unusually large number of guards assembling around an isolated warehouse. "Careful: this place is well guarded. We'll need to slip past them." Haytham kept his distance to avoid arousing suspicion, pacing guarded the area. Stationary guards were posted all along the main thoroughfares, preventing peaceful entry in that direction. Closer to the water there was a moving patrol whose route circled one building, leaving one passage unwatched for several seconds.

Once Haytham had the patrol route clear in his head they walked behind them, distant enough so that they wouldn't be noticed unless the patrol made an about-face. They walked behind the patrol until they were inside the perimeter. Here the guards had allowed security to lapse: there were more blind spots than guards. They walked up to the warehouse door but it was locked, and not with a standard domestic lock. The large tumblers couldn't be moved by Haytham's small, delicate instruments and his gear would break if he tried. To Charles he said "Wait here, I need to find the key."

Eagle Vision quickly revealed which guards carried a key. Haytham found one he could pick-pocket while remaining in a blind-spot and relieved him of the heavy metallic prize. Slowly and silently Haytham returned to the door and opened it, signalling to Charles to remain silent and unseen. They stepped inside and closed the door behind them, hiding behind the crates as they approached the angry voices at the far end of the warehouse.

One man in a British Captain's uniform was standing with crossed arms, in the unmistakable position of a captor. A great big bear of a man in civilian clothes was tied into a chair. Behind the prisoner stood a Redcoat soldier, toying eagerly with his blade. Between this trio and Haytham's position were two Redcoat infantry, though they were too enthralled watching the Captain and had their backs to Haytham. Haytham hid behind one stack of crates and Charles hid behind another.

The Captain was saying "Why must you always make these things so difficult, Thomas? Merely provide me with recompense and all shall be forgiven."

Thomas was bound but not gagged. He simply spat at the Captain's feet.

"How very gauche." The Captain turned to his soldier: "Now, what shall we do with him?"

The man with the blade leaned down. "Maybe I'll take his hands, put an end to his thieven'ing. Maybe....I'll take his tongue, to put an end to his waggen'ing. Or _maybe_ I'll take his cock, and put an end to his fucking us!"

The Captain considered. "How can I possibly decide, Cutter? You're the artist, I leave it to you."

Thomas screamed "I'll kill you for this, Silas! Do you hear me?!"

Captain Silas merely said "No, I rather think you won't." Silas walked to Haytham's left and out of sight. Haytham heard the sound of a door opening, closing and being locked.

Cutter brushed his blade against the prisoner's face. "Just a quick little swipe and _poof!_  No more ears! How does that sound, Mister Fausett?"

"At least I'll be spared your inane prattle!"

"There's always the chance you'll pass out, but I'll do my best to ensure that doesn't happen!"

Haytham signalled to Charles to take out the guard on the right while Haytham went to the guard on the left. Charles drew a dagger as Haytham extended a Hidden Blade. They walked behind their respective targets and killed them in almost perfect unison, the wet gurgles were drowned out by the harsh words Cutter and Thomas were exchanging.

Cutter was still leaning over Thomas, preventing the prisoner from realising he was being rescued. Thomas spat "Your parents must be very proud to have raised such a specimen!" Then he gave a cry of pain.

"Quiet now!" Cutter chided, "I need to concentrate on where to start. A little bit from here, a little bit from there....Yes, that will make a nice keepsake! Now _hold still!_ "

By now Haytham had crossed the floor behind Cutter; he plunged the still-extended Hidden Blade into the man's back, where it went in between the ribs and pierces his heart. Haytham let the body fall unceremoniously to the floor and got his first good look at Thomas Fausett. Fausett was covered with Cutter's blood (squirted out through the latter's artery) and a half-inch cut on his nostril indicated that Cutter had managed to inflict at least some damage. But the man knew a rescue when he saw one. "Who....Who are you?"

"Haytham Kenway, esquire." Haytham used the Hidden Blade to cut Fausett's bonds before finally retracting it. "Walk with me, Mister Fausett, and all will be revealed."


	7. Conflict of Interest

They took Thomas to a barber-surgeon to fix his cut, then to the inn for a meal. They explained that they wanted to explore and study the lands surrounding Alexandria and needed combat-ready companions to help them. As a down payment Joseph would be released from jail; the agreement was gladly taken. The next morning Haytham, Charles and Thomas proceeded to the city jail armed with the appropriate papers and bribes to secure Joseph's release. When they stepped inside the building, however, they found Edward Braddock and his entourage. Officially this was their first meeting in America, so Haytham greeted Braddock as though he were seeing an old friend. "Edward Braddock!"

Braddock faced him. "Haytham Kenway! I thought you were in New York."

Haytham gave his explanation for appearances' sake. "My research has brought me here. Unfortunately one of my party was arrested and we're here to vouch for him." Braddock gestured for Haytham to go first. Haytham turned to the bailiff: "I understand a Joseph Fausett was arrested this morning?"

The bailiff consulted his records and nodded his head. "Making an affray."

Haytham explained "Lieutenant Lee here will confirm Mister Fausett was speaking with us at the time in question. If there was a brawl he wasn't involved in it."

The bailiff looked skeptical until Braddock said "You can trust Mister Kenway, bailiff, but Fausett will be released into _my_ custody. He's been called up for the army."

The bailiff practically ran to get his keys, fumbled with them, and then went to the cells. Evidently Braddock had already brow-beaten the poor fellow.

Haytham turned to Braddock. "I need Master Joseph if my expedition is to depart at all, Edward. He'll only be with us for a few weeks, I'll return him to his proper post once our work is finished."

Braddock grunted. "The devil's work, no doubt! Isn't it enough for you that I've granted you the use of Charles? Old friendships only go so far, Haytham."

"Edward, be reasonable."

Braddock signalled one of his retinue: "These men are done, show them out!"

* * *

Haytham could feel his anger rising again so this time he decided to indulge it. The bailiff's reaction to Edward, and the fact Braddock was happy to allow Haytham's assignment to collapse, indicated he was still the man who fled Bergen-Op-Zoom. Haytham would have to give Edward's epiphany a nudge forward if it was to happen at all.

Braddock's escort led them away from the jail then returned to his master. Haytham led the others out of sight and then lingered. "Don't worry Thomas, we'll still get Joseph out." They waited a discreet interval and then stalked back to the jail, hiding in a small alley off the main street.

Charles whispered "What now? They'll chase us off if we try and return."

"We're done here," Haytham said, "And as luck would have it, so have they."

Braddock's entourage now included Joseph Fausett. They were walking from the jail towards the centre of town. "What's the plan?" Thomas asked.

"To steal Master Joseph," Haytham answered.

" _What?_ " Charles asked.

"You'll see. You and Thomas go ahead and find a suitable dead end, then lure Braddock's patrol there."

"But—"

"But nothing! Go!"

Charles and Thomas left. Haytham stalked Braddock and his men, watching them from behind building corners and remaining anonymous amongst the citizenry. As they approached the markets Braddock asked "Hmmm.... Where shall we start?"

"Perhaps down Royal Street?"

"No," Braddock answered, "The residents are too content. Their homes are nice, their days untroubled."

"What of Duke or King Street?"

"Yes....Those freshly arrived are often in dire straits, or soon will be. More likely to seize upon a chance to fatten their purses and feed their young." Braddock's voice was filled with contempt.

Haytham rolled his eyes. Braddock was on a recruitment drive.

When Thomas reappeared his hair and clothes were dishevelled and covered with dirt, a hasty make-up job to appear a vagrant. Thomas screamed "You! Thieves and scoundrels the lot of you!" He bent to the horse pat at his feet, grabbed a handful and hurled it at the general. "Fie on you and your false war!!"

Braddock, very slowly, looked down at his shit-covered uniform and examined the mess. He then slowly looked up with blood in his eyes. " _After him!!_ "

Haytham smiled to himself. The entire patrol went after Thomas; Haytham followed them through the streets and alleys and nearly lost them but Charles appeared, signalling the last turn. They arrived on the scene together; Braddock had seized Thomas and was holding him against a brick wall.

Haytham screamed "Unhand him, Edward!"

Braddock released Thomas and turned around. " _You_ again!"

"Let him go! And Joseph with us!"

"I will not have my authority challenged!  _Especially_ not by you!"

Haytham sighed. "Then you've forced my hand." He reached into his pouch.

Braddock drew his sword. "Put them all in chains!"

Haytham took and held a deep breath as he drew a bomb and threw it at Braddock's feet.

* * *

The Assassins used several varieties of bombs designed to distract or incapacitate as well as kill. Haytham exclusively carried the smoke-choke bomb: as the name suggested, it created an opaque cloud of grey smoke. Inhaling the vapour would cause such coughing, sneezing and choking that victims were unable to attack or defend. The smoke wasn't dense enough to irritate the eyes, though the obscuring mist blocked normal vision. The alchemical mix used to spread the cloud meant the noxious fumes lost their potency by the time the smoke cleared, and a few breaths of clean air was enough to stop the gagging.

Although normal vision was thwarted by a smoke-choke bomb, Eagle Vision was not. Because the smoke only affected the lungs if inhaled, one could simply hold their breath in the cloud to remain unaffected. These properties made the smoke-choke the perfect means of blocking both enemies and witnesses temporarily, inflicting neither harm nor long-term side-effects. They also cost £50 each.

Haytham had dropped a smoke-choke because he was not prepared to begin a bloody fight with Braddock's entourage. These men had volunteered to serve the British Army and simply had the misfortune to be assigned to Edward Braddock today. Haytham would not allow them to be harmed but he didn't have time to convince Charles and Thomas of this, so he allowed his companions to be subdued as well.

Once the bomb was thrown Haytham shifted into Eagle Vision; he grabbed the Brown Besses of the choking Regulars and tripped the owners to the ground. Once they were disarmed and prone Haytham guided Charles and the Fausetts out of the smoke and gave them the captured weapons. After a breath of fresh air Haytham returned to the cloud and grabbed Edward Braddock, dragging him out in the opposite direction of Charles and the Fausetts. The effort forced him back into normal vision.

Haytham waited for Braddock to stop coughing, then bared a Hidden Blade and held it against Edward's neck. In that savage, violent tone Haytham usually kept suppressed he told Braddock "I stay my hand today because you were once a better man than this. But if you haven't remembered that before our paths cross again, my memory will suffer a similar lapse!" Haytham retracted the Blade and pushed Braddock against the building wall; by now the smoke had dissipated. Haytham marched back to his companions. "You're free now Joseph," Haytham announced without looking back.

Braddock started screaming "Traitor! Go on then! Join them on their fool's errand! And when you find yourself lying broken and dying in the bottom of a ditch!...." but they all ignored him.

Joseph said "I assume you have good reason for causing all this madness. What is it you require of us?"

Haytham answered "I'll explain everything at the inn."

* * *

As soon as they arrived at the tavern the Fausett Brothers toasted to their reunion. With their second pint they toasted to Haytham's health, and with the third to Charles's. As each term of the contract was agreed to the Fausetts dedicated a fresh pint to the success of their mission. When Haytham began to explain the details of their journey the brothers cried "Oi, Catherine ya fussock! Get back here!  _Daddy needs a drink!_ "

When the waitress delivered fresh mugs, Joseph grabbed her and buried his nose in her cleavage. Haytham stood nearby, hands behind his back, maintaining an aura of detachment from the drunken debauchery. "We'll need to hire some Native guides."

Only Haytham's mention of the Natives distracted Joseph from the waitress. "Garrison's taking to slaving the Injuns. They won't trust ya." He returned to the giggling wench.

Thomas splattered "Rescue 'em and they'll owe us! Silas keeps 'em in his fort!"

Charles grunted. "Silas is Captain Silas Thatcher, the man who held Thomas earlier."

"As long as their information is accurate, any debts the Fausetts have with Silas are none of our concern." Haytham turned to the Fausetts and (slowly and loudly) asked "Can you tell me anything about his operation?"

"'Fraid not," Thomas drawled before guzzling more liquor. Joseph staggered upstairs with the waitress.

Charles offered "He's in charge of the fort to the west of here."

Haytham considered. "This business with Silas confounds me. If Britain is to stand any chance in the coming war they need to ally with the Natives before the French do. Not enslave them."

"Silas has a reputation of putting his own purse ahead of his duties. As long as there are buyers Thatcher will get the product."

Haytham thought aloud "Freeing one man from a warehouse is different from freeing a party of slaves from the local garrison. They'll be held in the most secure area of the compound, not the nearest convenient warehouse.... Let me think on it."


	8. Capture The Flag

"Gentlemen!" Haytham announced, "I believe—"

Thomas let out a loud belch.

"Charming!" was all Lee could say.

"Oh peace Charles, they'll grow on you!" Haytham insisted. "As I was saying, I believe I've found a solution to our problem. Or rather, Odysseus has."

"Ody....Ody- _who?_ " Joseph asked, "Is he a new guy?"

Charles answered "The Greek hero, you lobcock!"

Haytham smiled. "Allow me to explain. We enter Thatcher's garrison under the pretext of kinship. Once inside we spring our trap, free the slaves and kill the slaver."

The Fausett Brothers looked at each other. "Dodgy, dodgy....I like it!"

"Then let us begin. First we need appropriate garb: each of you have your own uniforms, and Charles I trust you can obtain a Lance Corporal's uniform for me?"

"Of course sir."

"Now, while Charles is organising the clothes the rest of us need to find ourselves a convoy...."

* * *

Roads between Alexandria and the Virginia frontier were watched over by Silas Thatcher's fort and garrison. Haytham and the Fausetts observed the various wagons as they came and went, monitoring the routes they took. While they waited for a suitable wagon to pass by, Haytham drilled Charles and the Fausetts on how they were to behave once inside the fort so they could remain undetected. A light snow fell, the sort that melted quickly rather than gathering on the ground. Despite the lower visibility Haytham spotted his target. He signalled to the others their target was approaching; as they moved into position Haytham returned to his spyglass and studied the wagon.

It was a two-horse cart dragging a wagon of iron bars with so many poor wretches squeezed inside that some were pushed against the bars, their arms hanging out of the wagon in an effort to create more space. The slave convoy was led by an officer, a soldier and a drummer beating the march; the single wagon was followed by four more soldiers walking two abreast. There would only be this few guards if the slaves were in no condition to flee. Unlike Braddock's entourage, the convoy escort were not innocent: they had knowingly, willingly and with malice of forethought selected cash over compassion.

Sitting next to the wagon's driver was a woman, in garb Haytham instantly recognised as Mohawk. Haytham was surprised to see a Mohawkess in Virginia, far south of Mohawk lands. Perhaps she had been kidnapped in a raid and her owner had since moved from New York; perhaps she was fleeing the fighting, or had been captured while trying to fight the British. Haytham shook the thoughts from his mind—he couldn't be distracted now, in the moments before going into combat.

By now Charles and the Fausetts had pulled their own cart into position. When the three of them tipped it over the empty wooden crates scattered everywhere, then Charles and Joseph went in opposite directions to their own ambush positions. Thomas knelt over a wheel, trying to 'fix' the wagon.

The overturned wagon could be seen for several hundred yards but the officer kept them marching until they were a mere 10 feet away from Thomas. With a call of "Halt!" the soldiers, drummer and wagon all came to a stop while the officer kept walking straight to Thomas. "What the hell is _this_?"

Thomas turned from the cart and faced the convoy. "A thousand pardons sirs, seems we've had ourselves an unhappy little accident."

"Get it sorted! Quickly!" the officer instructed.

"Of course m'lord, at once." He turned back and continued to work the cart, 're-attaching' the wheel.

The words Thomas didn't speak told Haytham that Charles and Joseph were not yet in position either. Haytham silently edged along the rocky overhang so that he was directly above the four rear guards, as per the plan. Then Haytham crouched into a ready stance and waited for Thomas to turn around again.

"Hurry up now!" the officer demanded.

"We're trying!"

"My patience is wearing thin!"

"Doing the best we can, sir!"

While Thomas was facing the officer Haytham signalled he was ready. Again, the words Thomas chose indicated he had seen the signal but the action phrase hadn't been spoken. Charles or Joseph must not be in position yet.

The officer cried "Look, either get your cart right or we're going through it!"

Haytham chuckled to himself. God forbid the officer simply go around the obstruction, or worse yet offer some assistance.

Thomas played panicky with the threat. "Please don't! We're nearly finished!" That was the action phrase. Haytham bared both Hidden Blades and jumped.

The Dual Air Assassination was one of the most difficult moves to pull off. You jumped down on two suitably close targets, assuming a squat position mid-air, and held your bared Hidden Blades so that they would hit first with the all the momentum of the fall. The closer your two targets were, the easier it was to use them as cushions against the landing; Haytham's 6'3" frame gave him enough reach to Dual Air Assassinate two soldiers in formation without injuring himself. Of course you couldn't let the Hidden Blades penetrate your targets too deep if you wanted to get up again quickly, as in this case.

The sound of Haytham landing on the two guards was concealed by Charles and Joseph, who fired their muskets on the forward guards. Haytham yanked his Hidden Blades out and looked to the remaining two rear guards. They were fixated on the gunshots so Haytham drove both Hidden Blades into their backs. By the time Haytham looked to the forward guards the only one standing was the officer, who was struggling against Thomas as Charles and Joseph advanced with their bayonets.

Haytham retracted his Blades and went to the agitated prisoners within the bars. They were whispering to each other in their own language; Haytham offered "It's all right. We're here to help you, along with the others inside the fort."

"Free us," one of the men demanded in gruff, accented English.

Haytham let them see the pain in his face. "I can't, not until we're inside the gate. We can't risk an inspection going wrong." They didn't believe a word of it. "I'll see you safe, you have my word."

* * *

They dumped the bodies in the thickets far from the road; Haytham frisked the bodies and found several keys, at least one of which would open the slave wagon. They changed into their uniforms and returned to the wagon. Charles Lee, with his lieutenant's uniform, took the lead while the Fausetts (in the blue uniforms of Militia) formed the rear guard. Haytham climbed into the wagon's driver position, next to the Mohawkess who pulled away from him. Once the horses were moving Haytham turned his attention to the woman.

The American Natives were all hauntingly beautiful yet _this_ Mohawkess eclipsed all others by a wide margin. It wasn't simply her physical perfection that made her stand out: despite her bound hands, despite the large and swollen bruise on her face, she sat tall and defiant. It was as if these indignities were being endured as a feint, as though she were somehow holding back out of mercy to her captors.

Haytham wanted to establish a good rapport with the Mohawkess and so he whispered "Do you know anything about the slavers' operation? How many men, the nature of their defences?"

The Mohawkess didn't change her expression. She turned her gaze away from him and stared into space.

Could the Mohawkess even speak English? Haytham certainly didn't speak any Native languages and there was hardly time to find an interpreter. He knew that the Natives were fighting for the French, so Haytham said in that language "You must be important if you're being held separate from the other prisoners."

Still no response. Was that because she didn't want to speak about it? Perhaps the wagon's cell was too overloaded even for the Mohawkess. More likely she was placed in easy reach so that when the cart stopped, an officer at the fort could viciously have his way with her.

So in French Haytham said "I wish you'd trust us....though I suppose it's only natural for you to be wary. So be it."

They followed the roads and approached the fort. The guard called "Hold!"

Haytham pulled the horses to a stop. "Good day gentlemen," Haytham said as he tipped his hat.

"State your business." The guard couldn't avert his gaze from the Mohawkess.

Charles pointed at the cage. "Delivery for Captain Thatcher."

Satisfied the guard signalled for the gate to open. As two of the fort's Militia guided the wagon Haytham observed the activity in the outer perimeter. A couple of empty slave wagons and a number of Regular and Militia officers, their uniforms different from the rest of the fort guards, were arrayed in the outer quadrangle. They were examining Natives in the pillories; no doubt some buyers were inspecting the stock.

The pillory was a horrid punishment. Two planks of wood were cut so that when placed alongside they formed holes for the victim's neck and wrists. The planks were then secured with the victim's wrists anchored beside the neck. The completed board was then angled so the victim was forced to bend forward at the waist, too low to stand comfortably and too high for the prisoner to squat or sit. If they tried to rest their neck on the wooden board, the weight of their own head pressed their windpipe closed.

Haytham's wagon was led to the inner fortress and then to a warehouse. The Militia opened the warehouse doors for the wagon and closed it behind them; Haytham ignored the sound of the Fausetts silently bayoneting the genuine guards from behind. Haytham extended a Hidden Blade and cut through the Mohawkess's bonds. "See? I'm freeing you just as I said I would. Now if you'll let me explain—" In the instant the Mohawkess was free she leaped down from the wagon and fled the warehouse. "Let her go!" Haytham instructed without even turning, his voice betraying his frustration.

"But she'll give us away!" Thomas countered.

Haytham dismounted from the carriage. "No, she won't." He retrieved the keys taken from the wagon's original escort and went to the cage, trying each of them in turn. "Now, if you'll let me explain. They're loading slaves into a wagon in another part of the fort and some other prisoners are being kept in the pillories. We can free those in the pillories if we remain undetected but we don't have enough men to hijack the wagons."

One Powhatan began calling to those imprisoned in the warehouse in their own language, keeping the volume low so suspicion would not be aroused. Eventually he turned to Haytham: "Free everyone and they will fight."

Haytham discarded one ring of keys that did not open the lock. "I must ask that you wait until we rescue the prisoners from the pillories. As they are freed we will bring them here, with weapons. You can then concentrate on the convoy while my companions and I strike the fort's colours."

"What does that mean? 'Strike the fort's colours'?"

"Just a moment." Finally the wagon's lock opened and Haytham helped the prisoners out. The Natives mumbled to each other in their own language. Haytham guided the interpreter to the door overlooking the main courtyard; they opened the door a crack and peeked outside. "See the flagpole? While your people riot, mine will lower the flag. When that happens the garrison is obliged to surrender."

The interpreter nodded with understanding. "If they do not speak your language say E-wee-ne-tu chama so they know you will help." Haytham repeated the phrase until the man was satisfied. The Powhatan explained it meant "Peace, friend."

* * *

Charles led the four of them through the courtyard, yet another small patrol walking through the fort. They drifted to the pillories where the slaves were on display, mingling amongst the official guards. Body language revealed the buyer had taken his pick and was haggling over the price. Haytham whispered "We're running short of time. Charles, you and Joseph raid the weapons cache; Thomas, with me." Haytham walked up to the sergeant guarding the pillories and asked "Shall I return them to the pen, sir?"

"Leave them where they are, Corporal, we have target practise later."

Haytham pretended to accept his orders. He signalled Thomas to create meaningless conversation amongst the soldiers around the pillories. While the actual guards were distracted Haytham pulled out his lock-picking equipment and began to force open a pillory lock. The prisoner realised something strange was happening so Haytham whispered "It's all right, I'm a friend."

The prisoner became agitated and began to say something in Powhatan.

Haytham put a finger to his lips and gently said "Shhh." Then he whispered the phrase the Powhatan spokesman gave him: "E-wee-ne-tu chama."

"Chama?" the prisoner whispered, and Haytham presumed it meant friend.

"Chama," Haytham repeated. The lock sprang open and Haytham lifted the board; the prisoner stood up but Haytham guided him to kneel down. Haytham pointed to the other guards to explain the need for secrecy.

Another of the pillory victims hissed. "Friend! Here!" His English was better than the first.

Haytham crept to the prisoner and began to work on his lock. Haytham whispered "Work your way to the slave pens. My companions are bringing weapons."

As he fiddled with the lock Haytham realised the tumbler sequence was identical to the first. This meant they all used the same key so he was able to force the lock quicker than before. When the prisoner was free he rubbed his neck and said "You open, we....we stand." The man understood it made no sense but he didn't have the vocabulary. He went to the prisoner who was already free and whispered instructions that the first one agreed with. The first prisoner then stood in the pillory as the second put the board back into place without locking it. "You open, we stand. Free and not free."

Now Haytham understood: unlock the various pillories but let the prisoners pretend to remain captive. That would certainly buy them time and help in the escape. He half-smiled and repeated "Free and not free." They went from pillory to pillory, the prisoner whispering in Powhatan as Haytham forced the lock. When they were all finished Haytham ducked low and whispered "Lead them to the pens." He pointed in the direction of the other prisoners.

The Powhatan said "You leave. We run to others."

Haytham stood up and walked to where Thomas was speaking with the guards. One of the Regulars were saying "Prisoners? There are _no_ prisoners. And even if there were, we would not acknowledge them."

Haytham said "Thomas, we should get back to the pens." They took their leave from their 'comrades' and walked away. Once they were a discreet distance away Haytham whispered "I'll take an ambush position, you and the others head for the battle colours."

Thomas acknowledged with a simple "Sir" and continued out of sight.

Shouts from the pillories signalled the start of the escape. Haytham watched from behind the corner as the slaves ran to the pens. The soldiers who were supposed to be guarding them saw the commotion and ran after them; the sergeant screamed "Make ready!" but before the firing line could assemble the slaves had disappeared behind the buildings.

Another order from the sergeant rescinded the firing line and they resumed their charge with bayonets. As they approached the corner where Haytham was standing he bared both Hidden Blades and leaped out from behind the corner, plunging them into two pursuing soldiers.

The other two soldiers staggered back and nearly dropped their muskets: they had never seen _this_ before! Haytham went for the nearest soldier but the man was able to bring his bayonet up in defence. Haytham stopped swiping to quickly assess the battlefield: the two soldiers nearest him were getting ready for a Blade-to-bayonet fight while a sergeant was directing four other soldiers into a group. The order may not have been given but Haytham knew he was assembling a firing line.

He would have to time this perfectly. Haytham made some attacks and blocks at the soldier nearest him, gauging the man's strengths and weaknesses. Meanwhile his companion approached and tried to circle around Haytham. The two grunts didn't notice that Haytham moved to ensure he kept the first one occupied and the second just close enough.

The sergeant screamed "Ready your weapons!" On cue Haytham unleashed a flurry of slashes with the Hidden Blades: left-right-left-right until his first target's belly was a pin cushion. "Take aim!" Haytham stepped towards the second target, close enough for his next attack but keeping enough distance so the sergeant didn't abandon the firing line. " _Fire!!_ "

Haytham's military training meant he could anticipate the precise seconds between the aiming and firing order. The moment before the order was given, too late for anyone to realise what was happening, he grabbed the second target around the neck. Haytham pulled the man next to him, using him as a human shield, while he kept his own torso at right-angles to the firing line. This meant the full width of the soldier's torso took the bullets while Haytham's own torso presented a minimum target area.

The four soldiers fired in perfect unison and four slugs of lead entered the shield. An explosion of flesh marked the passage of a ball that had not struck bone, whizzing past Haytham's chest and splattering him with blood. Haytham abandoned his lifeless shield, turned and fled. His goal was not to slaughter every man in the fort, simply to buy the pillory slaves enough time to reach the pens.

When shots rang out in the direction of the pens Haytham knew that Charles had been successful in arming the slaves; his goal now was to sow enough confusion that the garrison couldn't slaughter them. He fled the quad in the direction of the officers' quarters, running into a team of guards who were investigating the commotion. Haytham urged "It's a double-cross! Don't let the slave wagon leave!" The soldiers then ran straight for the outbound slave wagon to protect the merchandise.

By now Haytham had worked his way to the officers' quarters, where he saw Charles and the Fausetts fighting the officers who recognised them as imposters. Haytham ran amongst them, driving his Hidden Blades deep into the backs of those trying to surround Joseph. Towards one edge of the battlefield Haytham heard Thomas Fausett's voice. "I made a promise to you, Silas! One I intend to keep!" Then a gun went off.

A number of soldiers come bolting from around the corner, their hands empty. Panic was clear on their faces: no doubt they had lost the will to fight after their commanding officer was killed.

"Cease fire!" screamed a voice, " _Cease fire!!_ "

The two warring factions stopped and looked in the direction of the voice. It was Charles Lee, who had just struck the battle colours from the fort's main flagpole. The Regulars and Militia threw down their arms and raised their hands; the Natives gave a long cheer. Instructions were shouted in Powhatan and the Natives ushered the captured soldiers to the inner courtyard.

The Powhatan interpreter recognised Haytham, Charles and the Fausetts and gave instructions to his companions. The Natives took the other soldiers away and the Powhatan explained "It is best if you all leave. Not everyone is prepared to show mercy to the Colonists, even those who have helped us."

"Thank you."

Haytham made them linger at the flagpole as the Natives assembled their prisoners. If the Natives began to slaughter the garrison Haytham would stop them: the slavers were monsters but nothing would be gained by killing them now. They waited and watched for an hour, perhaps two, until the newly-freed Natives began to leave. Most were carrying provisions, others were guiding horses and carts filled with swag taken from the fort. Amongst them was the Mohawkess on a white horse with a musket and full saddlebags. Haytham smiled as he saw the woman depart. And when the Mohawkess noticed him and his smile she returned it. A genuine and warm smile; she kept her eyes on Haytham until she was obliged to round a corner and move out of sight. It was positively entrancing.

Only later did Haytham realise his smile at the Mohawkess was wide, without pulling the scar on his lip.


	9. Unconvinced

Haytham hoped that one of the prisoners from the slave pens would eventually make contact with him or the others but there was only silence. It was not surprising the prisoners didn't want to stay around Alexandria and the slavers who mistreated them. Unfortunately for Haytham that meant any Native who knew anything about the Mohawkess was gone. He decided to simply travel into the frontier and look for any of the refugees, and from there find the mysterious woman. Then Charles received a letter. "General Braddock has called up all the part-timers for his expedition against the French. It's not just me sir, it's the Fausetts as well."

Haytham nodded. "No doubt he's still angry about the shaming we gave him. Do as he asks."

"I'm sorry for the trouble."

"Not your fault. Settle the contract with the Fausetts, I'll travel into the frontier on my own."

"Is that wise?"

"I'm staying on the main routes, close to the city. I'd rather be searching the frontier than lazing about."

Orders were cancelled, surplus equipment was sold. The week of mild temperatures had passed so Haytham packed a bedroll, blankets and other emergency gear for the winter. He remained on the main roads, travelling from tavern to tavern, asking after the Natives who recently escaped Alexandria. No-one had seen them; Haytham feared they had all fled north-west, to the French territories where the fighting would soon take place.

Haytham was absolutely certain the Mohawkess would prove to be the key to his true mission. When he asked where this certainty came from, it was simply the fact she was a _Mohawkess_. This was the tribe William Johnson said was most likely to know anything about the Precursor storehouse, a tribe where the spiritual leaders were female rather than male. Who better to lead him to the storehouse? Then Haytham reminded himself that the Mohawkess spoke no English or French, that he would have to convince the woman to accompany him until William Johnson or another interpreter could be found. So why was he so....preoccupied?  _Obsessed?_  Why did every part of him demand he find her?

One morning after breakfast he wandered on foot around the perimeter of the inn, admiring the virgin woodlands of the frontier. He shifted into Eagle Vision out of sheer boredom, just for the hell of it, and was surprised to spot a wisp of golden cloud in the distance. It took a minute to realise he was looking for anything that would lead him to the Mohawkess. Haytham bolted back to the inn, settled his bill and gathered his things.

* * *

The golden column proved to be smoke, too small for a forest fire. In normal vision it would have been easy to mistake it as just another small cloud patch. Haytham pursued the column along the main roads since the well-trafficked areas only had a light dusting of snow. Eventually Haytham had to leave the roads and move on trails. Although it was late March the turn of spring had not yet arrived.

The source of the smoke was a camp site in a clearing where the snow was shallow. A white horse was hitched to a tree, though it had been granted enough slack to lie down on a rug of animal skin. Next to the horse was a bedroll and camp fire, all sheltered by a stitched hide flysheet. The fire was snuffed but still warm, the wood undisturbed. It had snowed the previous night and the only footprints visible (apart from Haytham's own) led from the camp, over a hill and into the forest.

Haytham tied his own horse to the tree and followed the tracks. Quickly the snow became deeper and impeded movement but this problem lessened as he moved higher. Once he was on the crest of the hill he saw the Mohawkess plain as day, setting a hunting snare. There could be no doubt it was the same woman he rescued from the slavers.

Haytham decided to simply be standing there, his hands empty in a gesture of peace, when she turned back towards her camp. He thus walked to a convenient tree and leaned against it, watching the Mohawkess at work. Then the growl of a wolf sounded: Haytham spun, simultaneously drawing his pistol, and saw the animal approaching. He aimed and fired before the angry lupine could leap at him.

The gunshot guaranteed the kill but also advertised his presence for miles. The Mohawkess looked up in alarm, saw Haytham with his gun and immediately abandoned her snare and ran. "Oh bollocks!" Haytham muttered under his breath, "Wait! Come back!!"

The Mohawkess quickly ran to a fallen tree, using it as a balance beam to run over the snow-covered ground; clearly the art of parkour was known to the Mohawk as tree-running rather than free-running. Haytham followed her footsteps over the log, screaming "Stop running! I only wish to talk!"

The Mohawkess leaped to a tree trunk, climbing it as easily as a ladder, and then used its thick branches to run thirty feet above Haytham. This feat Haytham knew he could not replicate, so instead he went around the tree and continued along the ground. The result was that he ran straight into a patch of deep snow, instantly slowing him down.

Even as Haytham fought the snowdrift he screamed "I am _not_ your enemy! Please, just hear me out!" Not that she understood a word he was saying. He refused to stop moving, struggling against the snow until he could climb along some suitably large branches and trunks that had fallen to the ground. At last he climbed up the next slope and out of the snowdrift, though the Mohawkess was about to disappear out of his view.

No sooner had Haytham reached the summit of the hill than the growl of hungry wolves came from his left. He'd only just registered the first one when it leapt at him; by reflex Haytham brought his wrists up to block its terrible teeth. It gnawed and gnashed on his right forearm but his Assassin Gauntlet protected him from the crushing jaws. While the wolf was busy tearing at his arm Haytham flicked out his left Hidden Blade and stabbed the animal in the neck.

Haytham wrenched his right arm out of the wolf's dead mouth, flicking out its Hidden Blade and turning to the next growling wolf. This time he saw the animal run up and leap at him; once the wolf was airborne he ducked down, thrusting his two Hidden Blades behind the wolf's front legs as it flew. When the wolf landed on top of him Haytham fell back onto the hard ground; but the wolf's cries and throes were those of death.

Haytham pushed the dead wolf off him and leaped to his feet. Fighting wild animals wasn't much different to fighting wild soldiers: keep the target in sight, observe their movements, bring your blade in from an unexpected angle. That last one was important, since there was still one wolf left and Haytham had no time to reload his flintlock.

He heard the growl from behind; Haytham hit the ground in order to avoid another pounce, rolling to the side so that he could get the animal into his field of view. Only when he came out of the roll the animal was on top of him; he'd evaded too soon and now the wolf had leaped upon him, forcing him to the ground as its predecessor had done. But Haytham rolled with the fall, stabbing both Hidden Blades into the animal before hurling it off him with his arms and legs. He retracted the Hidden Blades briefly so he could climb to his feet, extending only one as he ran to the injured wolf for the killing blow before it rallied.

Haytham felt his body register fatigue; he checked his arm and shoulders but there was no blood, only general aching. Haytham told his body to stop whining and continued in the direction he last saw the Mohawkess. "Gods woman!" Haytham screamed, "Only let me speak!!"

Haytham lost his footing. Too distracted to break the fall in time, his face hit the snow. He tumbled once and then slid down the slope, landing in a hilarious heap.

When Haytham looked up the Mohawkess was in front of him. "Are you touched in the head?!"

He was too busy standing and catching his breath to hear. "Me....Haytham....I come in peace!"

"Why....are....you....speaking....so....slow?" she asked, in perfect English.

"Oh....Sorry."

"What do you want?"

"Well, your name for one."

Still wary she pronounced "Kaniehtí:io."

"Pleased to meet you Gadzi-zi....Ganny...."

She rolled her eyes. "Just call me Ziio." It was the last syllables of her full name.

"Theo."

" _Ziio!!_ "

Haytham forced all haste from his mind and slowly recited "Zee-oh."

"Now _Haytham_ , tell me why you are here."

He produced the amulet. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed it: "Where did you find _this_?"

"Back in Europe."

She looked at him, then back to the amulet. He let her believe that the riddle was how Mohawk markings could be present on a European amulet. "I've only seen these markings in one other place...." Ziio passed the amulet back. "But it is forbidden for me to speak of it."

The rejection stabbed him, deeper than he thought possible, which caused him to shout "I saved your people woman, does that mean _nothing_?!!" She stared at him with that stare she used on the wagon, the one that indicated she was ignoring him completely. Haytham didn't know where the pain came from but he breathed it from his mind. In a calmer voice he offered "Look, I am _not_ the enemy."

Ziio looked up him and down. "Come with me, and we will see if you speak the truth." She turned back to her camp and walked on. When they came to the dead wolves she instructed "Bring these with you." Haytham heaved one wolf over each shoulder while Ziio brought the third. When they walked past the snare it was empty. Ziio said "I'll show you the stream where you can despoil them."

"Me?"

To Ziio the answer was obvious. "You killed them."

"I....I don't know how...."

Ziio stared as though Haytham had just said he didn't know how to eat. "Do you know how to build a fire?" she demanded.

* * *

When Haytham retrieved the final wolf Ziio's snare remained empty, so he broke out some of the provisions he brought with him and got the fire burning. As they ate Ziio asked "If I do show you the place you seek, what will you do to it?"

Haytham considered his words carefully for there was so much information he had to convey. "Keep it secret and untouched by anyone else. British, French, _anyone_. We will not settle there, nor try to drive your people away, but work to keep explorers and settlers from reaching it."

"And if the place I show you is not what you seek?"

"Then I will tell my masters that if there is a storehouse in America, it is not within Mohawk territory."

After dinner Haytham retreated a discreet distance and took off his Hidden Blades, inspecting them for any damage from the wolf mauling. The metal plate had obvious dents where the wolf had bitten him but the mechanism was intact. His arm had fat bruises but only his clothes had been penetrated by the wolf's fangs. He spent the rest of the evening cleaning the blades before strapping them back on and falling asleep.

Breakfast consisted of a rabbit that found its way into Ziio's snare. As they ate Ziio asked "You called it a storehouse. Does that mean you have similar places in Europe?"

Haytham smiled and deliberately repeated her own words: "It is forbidden for me to speak of it."

They loaded the horses and returned to the main road, journeying north-west. Haytham decided not to ask any questions or volunteer any conversation in an effort to demonstrate his submission to Ziio. This meant that apart from Ziio's instructions they simply didn't speak.

When they stopped for lunch Ziio asked "Are you French or British?"

"English, British by birth."

"So you will side with them in the coming conflict?"

"Not necessarily but I recommend you ally with the British. They will actually make an effort to comply with any treaties you make with them; the French will betray you according to the latest whim of their king."

"The French have taken less land than the British."

Haytham shrugged. "It's your decision."

"Then you are prepared to fight the British?"

"If that will convince you then yes."

The rest of the day passed in silence, until at dinner Ziio drew the stylised A of the Assassins in the snow. "Is this your secret clan who protects your storehouses?"

"As I said, it is forbidden for me to speak of it. But I _can_ tell you the bearers of this mark have sworn to oppose tyranny, cruelty and injustice in all its forms. We are in a small minority, and we certainly aren't perfect, but we do strive for peace in all things."

"Your clan frees slaves and protects storehouses but will not eject the invaders?"

Haytham drank from his mug and tried to explain. "What the Colonists have done to your people is inexcusable but they are _also_ innocent."

Ziio laughed at him. "Do I believe your words or the actions of Silas Thatcher?"

"Silas wasn't one of us, he was a criminal even to the British."

"Yet he wore a leader's garb and commanded a fort. Are you a liar or a fool?"

"I delivered you his head, Ziio, how else can I prove my words are true?"

"You would murder total strangers just to find your storehouse? Is that what a man's life is to you, a bead to be traded?"

That hurt. "You misread me."

"Then what motivates you? Some past wrongs, a betrayal? Or simply the thrill of the hunt?"

"A world where men like Silas come to their senses."

The next morning Ziio asked "You said the Colonists are innocent. How so?"

Again, Haytham considered his answer carefully. "At first the Europeans didn't know your land was here, they were looking for a completely different place. Word spread they had found this land full of rare materials. The French wanted to claim it before the British, who both wanted to claim it before the Spanish and so on. They decided the best way to claim it was to send colonists, and so with a combination of threats and lies they sent their citizens here."

"What sort of threats and lies?"

"There is poverty in Europe, so bad that some can hardly feed themselves. Anyone caught stealing food is punished; the result is that the gaols are overflowing and so they're sending the prisoners here. Free citizens are told America is a land of plenty and so they indenture themselves in an effort to provide for their families. The army has no choice where they are stationed and are flogged if they complain. Others think that their god commands them to build a new society based purely on religious laws, and as proof cite the diseases that have cleansed the 'evil savages' from their promised land." Haytham couldn't tell if Ziio heard his disgust as he recited the Colonists' excuses.

"And yet your clan does nothing to stop them."

"What _can_ we do? Even if the migrations cease the Europeans will not forget America. Then only those prepared to defy European laws will come here, and you will have a fleet of Colonists with _absolutely_ no inclination to respect your people." Haytham stopped talking. Would any answer he gave be correct?

* * *

And so the journey continued in this routine. Ziio would lead the way, choosing where they would make camp; Haytham would build the fire where instructed and prepare the meals from their rations. Haytham tried to maintain his discreet silence but he found it harder and harder to _not_ speak with Ziio. This was a strange sensation for Haytham, who had long ago embraced his natural shyness. A lifetime of aloneness was certainly less painful than enduring a loss such as that of Father, Irene or Will all over again. What was it that Haytham enjoyed so much about their conversations? Ziio's Mohawk accent? The careful speech of a woman for whom English was a secondary language? The simple, innocuous questions that demanded such long, complex answers that mere language never seemed to suffice?


	10. Execution is Everything

On the third evening since he met with Ziio they passed signs marking a town called Winchester. Ziio explained "This is it. The British will move through here soon, led by a man called the Bulldog."

Haytham nodded. "Edward Braddock."

"You _know_ him?" she asked with disgust.

"He's no friend of mine."

Ziio added "The tribes have allied with the French to oppose him."

"Then we shall assist them."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. Let's find out."

They entered Winchester, found a tavern and tied the horses. Ziio began to walk straight in.

Haytham ran ahead and held his hand up in order to stop her. "Perhaps it's best if I go alone. A Mohawkess is likely to raise suspicions, if not muskets."

She fobbed him off: "This is hardly the first time I've been amongst your people. I can take care of myself." Ziio pushed past him and into the tavern.

Haytham sighed. "I hope so," he whispered. He waited a discreet moment so it wouldn't be obvious he was travelling with Ziio and then walked into the tavern himself.

Haytham made himself anonymous amongst the patrons, walking between groups and listening for conversations. As he'd hoped, a couple of Regulars and several Militia were relaxing after a day's duty. One drunken, swaggering soldier saw Ziio and approached her with amorous intentions but Ziio just held her hand up and walked past him. The man didn't try to force the issue.

One of the Militia was whining "....Can't stand being quartered there. The endless crashing of the waves, the sting of the salt in my eyes, and the god-dammed gulls shrieking and shitting everywhere!"

His drinking buddy asked "So what's going on there that's so important?"

A third explained "The Bloodbacks are putting together another expedition."

"That what they're calling them now? 'Expeditions'?"

"Aye. Smart eh? Slap a fancy name on something and all evil is excused!"

The original whiner trumpeted "At least we'll be back at Mount Pleasant before week's end."

Haytham knew the army's rally point would be preparing for the campaign and thus offer more information than anything gossiping soldiers could offer. He looked around the tavern, locked eyes with Ziio to indicate they needed to talk, and walked to the door.

"Oi!" screamed a voice, "Where are you going cully?!"

Haytham turned around and saw a Militiaman glaring at him. "Me?"

"No the other cock robin!"

"Well....I _was_ just leaving."

He stepped forward, clearly itching for a fight. "And now?"

Haytham turned to face him square on. Better he enjoy the brawl than the soldiers pick on anyone else. "Now....I'm going to feed you your teeth."

From behind Haytham heard Ziio whisper "And you were worried _I_ was going to be the problem?!"

The first soldier charged at Haytham, who used the momentum of the charge to toss the man into a nearby barrel. The second one tried something similar: Haytham lifted him up and slammed him onto a table, which collapsed and left the target on the ground.

Two soldiers began punching at Haytham. He accepted the blows he couldn't block, retreating a few steps in order to have enough space to co-ordinate the next assault. The two soldiers made the mistake of coming at him simultaneously: Haytham ducked one blow while blocking the other: the soldier he blocked was then pulled into position for use as a shield against the other soldier's next blow. The sound of a broken nose came from Haytham's shield: he pushed the man forward, bowling over his partner.

By now the entire pub had surrounded them, cheering and yelling for the brawlers. Towards the back wagers were made and exchanged. Ziio was amongst the most vocal of the audience.

Four soldiers stepped up. By the time the first one stepped forward Haytham already grabbed the bottle from the bar, using it to batter the man with the heavy weight of the liquid within. Another one came at Haytham armed with a chair: Haytham lured him into swinging it too close to one of the building's posts, shattering the weapon. Haytham kicked the chair-wielder in the kneecap and then gave a flurry of left and right fists until he fell moaning to the ground. As soon as Haytham turned to the next soldier he clapped both hands onto the man's neck and then delivered a sharp blow to the stomach. The last one didn't even try: Haytham blocked him and then executed a quick jump-kick, leaping up and planting both feet hard on the man's chest. Haytham landed on his rump and climbed to his feet. No more challengers stepped forward.

The barman called "Thanks for that. They never pay their tab!"

Haytham saw Ziio sit at the bar so he went and sat next to her. She stared at him and said "You're hurt."

Haytham ran his hand over his cheek where Ziio was staring. When he looked at his finger it was smeared with blood. He didn't feel anything and wondered if it was even his. "Oh it's nothing."

Ziio reached behind the bar, finding a white cloth and a bottle of spirits. She doused the rag in alcohol and held it to Haytham's cheek. "Here. This should stop the bleeding."

The faint pain confirmed to Haytham his skin had been breached. Haytham gently rested his hand on hers. "That wasn't necessary. But thank you." He tried to show the sincerity in his face. Too quickly Ziio pulled her hand (and gaze) away and retreated a couple of steps.

He paid for two rooms, one for himself and the other for Ziio. In private Haytham said "They're rallying at Mount Pleasant, do you know it?"

Ziio nodded. "A fort a few days from here. We depart in the morning."

* * *

They rose and breakfasted early, then stocked up on additional supplies. As they rode from Winchester Ziio warned "I still don't trust you."

"I know."

"Yet you remain."

"That I may prove you wrong."

"It will not happen."

"So you say."

"So I _know_."

"Yet....I remain."

As Ziio led them north-east into the mountains the clouds became thicker and darker. On the third day, as they reached Fort Mount Pleasant, the clouds emptied their contents. The snow in the air made it impossible to see and the snow on the ground made it impossible to walk, unless you were a horse. It seemed the closer they got to their destination, the heavier the snow fell. Haytham and Ziio rode close together, holding both their own reins and the other's so they wouldn't be separated.

Haytham's tricorne hat was overflowing with heavy snow, so he removed it and raised his Assassin hood. He had no choice but to enter Eagle Vision just to be able to see in front of him. Fort Mt Pleasant shone a conspicuous gold but Haytham instead looked for auras glowing white, indicating suitable hiding places. When he spotted one he called to Ziio "There's shelter!"

Ziio asked "How can you see _anything_ in this storm?!" Haytham pretended not to hear, even as Ziio whispered " _Definitely_ touched in the head."

It wasn't a cave so much as a rocky overhang, although there was enough space for their horses, bedrolls and campfire. As usual, Haytham laid out the larger rugs for the horses at the back of the overhang, laid out the bedrolls in front of the horses, and then began to assemble the fire in front of the bedrolls.

Once they had made camp Haytham looked out into the snows, still in Eagle Vision. A white aura moved along the road: Haytham realised it was a covered wagon going on the tracks towards the fort. He turned back into the cave and explained "There's a cart heading to the fort. I can hide inside, and the snowstorm will mask my activities." Ziio left the fire and followed his gaze; to cut off any more arguments he said "I know, I know: I'm touched in the head!"

Haytham left his tricorne hat behind. He ran to the wagon and jumped in from behind, quickly finding a suitable place to hide himself. The bumpy ride continued on and on, until finally the cart came to a stop. The driver said "Daniel Morgan, with the supply delivery that should've arrived yesterday."

After a minute another voice asked "What's in the cart? I need a full inventory."

"As you wish. Let's see....Two barrels of salt, twelve pounds pork, ten pounds beef, seven-dozen eggs, sixteen wheels of cheese—none of it French, don't worry....Five bottles of whiskey, thirty new uniforms plus boots and leather for patching....Blankets, feed for the horses....That's it, that's all there is."

The blizzard meant no-one was in the mood to actually check the contents of the cart. After it was waved through the checkpoint Haytham waited for the cart to stop, then listened as driver Morgan dismounted and hitched the horses. Haytham peeked from behind the canvas and watched Morgan go to the mess hall, where he no doubt would stay for the rest of the evening.

Haytham switched back into Eagle Vision before he climbed out of the cart and looked around. By now the golden glow of his destination no longer affected the entire fort but rather a single building inside it: the officers' mess. The sentries glowed red, but they were all huddled around fires or sheltering atop look-out towers. The occasional lone guard would walk past on a patrol route but without Eagle Vision they could barely see their own noses. Haytham could see as easily as if it were a clear day, and simply ensured he wasn't in front of the guards as they walked past.

At the officers' mess Haytham checked the perimeter for nearby guards then positioned himself near a window. A red-garbed Regular Lieutenant of about 50 was talking with a blue-garbed Militia Lieutenant-Colonel who was barely 20.

The Regular was Scottish. "....We can't do anything more until the weather changes."

The Militiaman was American. "I've left the original maps in the safe, and the copies are on your desk."

Haytham heard a sentry approach and abandoned his eavesdrop, walking silently to the bushes and hiding. As the sentry walked past Haytham concentrated on his next goal: the maps the Militiaman said they had. He climbed the wall of the officers' building and silently opened an unlocked window, sneaking inside and finding the lieutenant's office. He took one set of maps and examined it: the terrain was unfamiliar but Haytham knew a planned attack route when he saw one. He folded the maps and pocketed them, then slowly moved to an entrance where only a single guard was on watch. From behind the nearby haystack Haytham gave a whistle, watching as the guard became curious and looked around. Haytham whistled again; this time the man began to walk towards the fodder with his bayonet ready.

Haytham crept around the haystack behind the soldier, waiting for the man to start prodding the pile and mutter "Are you in _here_?" While the man examined the fodder Haytham silently walked through the unguarded entrance and vanished into the snow.

* * *

The only way Haytham could find his way back to camp was with Eagle Vision. When he arrived Ziio was wrapped in layers of blankets, shivering from the cold. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "We have to share blankets if we are to survive the night."

Haytham began to undo his weapon belt.

" _Just blankets!_ " Ziio warned with a savage look.

"Of course." He placed his weapons next to Ziio's musket and then drew his Assassin cloak around him as an extra barrier. They wrapped the same blankets around each of them so they could warm each other without embracing. Ziio's physical magnificence was a distraction at the best of times but now he could actually feel her warmth and smell her scent—pine needles and sap.

Haytham dreamed Ziio was angry with him. She cast some magic spell that made him feverish, wracked him with agony, and slowly transformed him into a wolf. As the claws grew on his fingers, his teeth grew into fangs, his nose lengthened and the fur engulfed his body Haytham's mind became that of the animal. When the transformation was complete he gave a long howl, then leaped upon Ziio and mauled her as she screamed, until he was waist-deep in her hot blood. Then Haytham found himself awake: the sky was still dark and Ziio was still slumbering. He cleaned himself up before Ziio could notice his nocturnal emission.

It was the worst night of Haytham's life.

He managed to return to sleep and woke after dawn, finding himself wrapped in only one blanket. Ziio was wearing the other blanket as she prepared breakfast next to the fire. The blizzard had passed and the sun was doing what little it could to warm the air. "How did it go?"

Haytham produced the documents he had stolen from the fort. "Copies of maps the garrison prepared."

Ziio examined the documents as Haytham looked over her shoulder. "This is good.... _Very_ good...." Ziio considered. "I will lead you back out of the mountains. Gather your allies; I will do the same. I will bring word to the tavern in Winchester when it is time to strike."


	11. The Braddock Expedition

They rode through the rugged terrain until they came to the last slope to Winchester's valley. Haytham was given the last of the rations, since Ziio could live off the land. Haytham rode to Winchester and replenished his supplies, then continued to Alexandria.

In Alexandria Haytham sent word to Charles Lee that he had returned and they arranged to meet for dinner. Haytham explained "I've found one of the Natives we freed from the slave pens who's agreed to guide me through the frontier. I'll be disappearing for several months."

Charles warned "General Braddock is preparing an expedition into the Ohio Country. I recommend you stay away from the forts in the area."

"And Johnson and Pitcairn?"

"Pitcairn is returning to New France; Johnson is leading another expedition in New York. The Fausett Brothers and I will be in the column commanded by General Braddock."

If Charles, Braddock or the Fausetts recognised him then Edward would ensure Haytham came to a sticky end. As a precaution Haytham ceased shaving and purchased clothes that frontiersmen typically wore, in an effort to disguise his appearance. He changed his horse, resupplied and returned to Winchester. Ziio had not yet arrived so he settled in for an extended stay.

* * *

Haytham walked amongst the people but instead of listening to their gossip he found his thoughts inexorably drawn to Ziio. The very smell of the trees conjured the memory of feeling her warm body beside his, or when she held the rag to his face. Yet physical contact with the most incredibly beautiful member of the world's most incredibly beautiful race was only the weakest lure that ensnared him.

From their discussions in their wilderness Haytham had learned Ziio was born into the Mohawk political caste. He'd also seen that Ziio was far better at debating policy than most of the power-brokers in Europe, Brotherhood or otherwise. And with a single glance at a rock she could determine that a bear with two cubs resided in a particular shelter, as though Ziio had her own form of Eagle Vision. Beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent....and spirited, she was spirited too. Her beauty merely drew attention; her spirit, revealed through her every word and gesture, utterly hypnotised him.

In a quiet corner of the tavern Haytham was enjoying a meal when suddenly Ziio sat down in front of him. "Hard at work, I see," she said with a smile.

Haytham was amazed; he hadn't even heard the tavern door open, let alone her footfalls as she approached. "How did you?...."

She laughed. "It is time."

"Then let us away." After settling his bill Haytham loaded his gear.

Ziio asked "Why all the hair?" She brushed at her chin, indicating his stubble.

"Thought I should change my appearance. Any good?"

Ziio gave a sour look, indicating the beard didn't suit him. "If you grow it long it will conceal your face. And don't scratch so much."

Haytham pulled his nails away from his chin. His new hair was itchy as hell.

"Where are your allies?"

"They couldn't come."

"Not even your secret clan?"

"Sorry."

She led him to the outskirts of Winchester, where three Native men were camped. "These men represent the different Algonquin tribes united in their desire to see Braddock sent away." She indicated each in turn: "Atian for the Abenaki, Màxk'òkwes for the Lenape, and Waapa'maneto for the Shawnee." Haytham bowed to each as he was introduced to them.

The Natives looked to each other and spoke amongst themselves in their own language; Haytham stood back and let them speak, trying to follow the meaning via body language. They said angry words to Ziio, who responded as though she were defending herself against an accusation. Atian asked in English "Did you promise Ziio companions?"

"Yes, because at the time I had three. They have since been captured by the British." A diplomatic lie, more to divert anger than to deceive.

The four of them exchanged rapid words in Algonquin again, obviously displeased with Haytham.

* * *

It transpired that Waapa'maneto spoke no English and Ziio spoke no French. As a result the main language used in their journey through the mountains was French, with Màxk'òkwes translating for Ziio as necessary. Sometimes Haytham spoke directly to Ziio in English but Màxk'òkwes or Atian would always be nearby to monitor their words. When the Algonquin men spoke to Ziio it seemed they used a condescending tone.

They followed a river named the Youghiogheny north-west through the mountains. Here the land was utterly untouched even by the Natives and they were obliged to travel single-file. The trees reached miles into the sky, some with trunks 10 feet wide. Centuries of moss covered not just the trunks but the branches as well; the canopy was so dense that it blocked the heat as well as the light of the sun. Patches of reeds ensured that the forest growth extended even within the river. The sound of frogs and other animals was like a symphony perfectly tailored to the view.

Ziio caught him staring at the trees one day. "Do you have any forests left in Europe?"

"Not like _this_ ," Haytham muttered in awe. Then he realised she'd asked "Any _left_?"

"We all see what happens when the Colonists move onto the land. They fell more trees than they can possibly use, slaughter more animals than they can possibly eat, and never allow the land to recover." The way she spoke, the look she gave him, warned that Ziio still considered Haytham a Colonist.

Why did he care so much about what she thought of him? Popularity contests were the bane of Haytham's existence and yet he felt compelled to make Ziio the exception. He wanted her to _like_ him, or at least not look at him as though he was one of the monsters responsible for corrupting America.

* * *

The Youghiogheny eventually joined the Monongahela River, which guided them to Fort Duquense. The fort sat at the fork of the Monongahela and Ohio Rivers, forming a strategically important encampment. Outside the fort's palisades were various tents where the Algonquin were assembling to assist the French. Haytham was billeted in a tent with Ziio that was otherwise empty.

The next morning Màxk'òkwes took Haytham and Ziio to meet the French officer acting as Duquense's liaison with the Natives. A French soldier escorted them to the fort's war room, where a man in a French captain's uniform was waiting. "Ah, Monsieur Haytham de la Cicatrice." He offered his hand and Haytham gave the customary shake. Still in French the man said "I am Captain Daniel de Beaujeu, and I am told you are the one who obtained these." De Beaujeu indicated the paperwork on his desk, which included the papers Haytham took from Fort Mount Pleasant during the blizzard.

"That is correct Captain. I can pass as an English civilian amongst Major-General Braddock's camp, or I can join your soldiers for the battle."

"A spy will serve us best, Monsieur Haytham. We need to know exactly how many men and artillery pieces will be moving on Duquense, so I will send a number of Indian runners with you. Get whatever information you can and send the runners forward with it; I will keep in touch with you the same way."

Haytham acknowledged his instructions. "Before I leave Captain, something I can assure you of now. General Braddock demands flawless, unthinking obedience from his men. They will stand in perfect formation even as they are mowed down by artillery. They are unused to taking initiative or adapting their tactics, and they have essentially no experience in forested terrain. I suggest you ambush them in the woods."

Màxk'òkwes asked "Why not simply infiltrate the British camp? If Monsieur Haytham is as good as he claims to be, surely he can just kill the officers in their sleep."

De Beaujeu answered before Haytham could. "What will happen when the soldiers discover they are leaderless, Monsieur Renard? They will march on our fort anyway, utterly unrestrained, and even the civilians will be slaughtered. If we kill only a handful of officers, the British will simply wait for replacements while they try to find the spies. But if we scatter the expedition on its first assault we can keep the British out of this region for years."

Atian and Waapa'maneto found runners to join them while Haytham, Ziio and Màxk'òkwes got the equipment and supplies ready for the journey. Màxk'òkwes explained their instructions to Ziio, who asked in English "Why are they waiting?"

Haytham said "Did you notice how many French soldiers are about? Barely enough to garrison the place. They need reinforcements before they can march, otherwise Duquense will be undefended." Haytham stared at the terrain surrounding the fort, then added "The British will try to bring their artillery onto those hills, where they'll be within range of the fort but the French guns won't be able to reach the British. That's why de Beaujeu needs the absolute latest information on the British, to ensure the artillery doesn't get anywhere near the fort."

"You can tell all of that just by looking at some hills and soldiers?"

Haytham shrugged. "This from the woman who can tell where to find breakfast by looking at a fallen leaf."

* * *

Their party was ready to leave by the next morning. They travelled to Fort Mount Pleasant, the rallying point for Braddock's army, camping far enough away to avoid drawing attention. It was nearly a week before Braddock and his staff arrived; the British Regulars and the Colonial Militia streamed into the fort, parading and making other noises, and changing the fort's name to Fort Cumberland.

Haytham's chin had finally ceased to itch. The coarse beard and moustache didn't grow along his scar so Haytham didn't comb the hair, using the scruffy mess to conceal his most distinguishing feature. Fortunately the poor grooming was consistent with the disguise Haytham had decided to adopt while he was inside Fort Cumberland: a local pedlar come to trade. Ziio and the others would take some extra game that Haytham would use as wares when he entered the fort.

A large party of Natives arrived at Fort Cumberland, a party that none of Haytham's companions recognised. This obliged Haytham had to enter the fort earlier than planned and discover who these newcomers were. The premature infiltration proved to be a boon: the guards were so busy chaperoning the Natives that Haytham, obviously English, was left almost unchallenged. While trading his wares, however, all Haytham heard was the moaning of bored soldiers. "First it was too cold, now it's too god-damned hot!"

"And humid too! It's a right swamp, I tell you!"

"To say nothing of the mosquitoes!"

Haytham was just thinking how he would infiltrate the restricted area around the officers' quarters for an eavesdrop when Major-General Braddock's screaming solved the problem for him. "I've no time for insubordination! If—nay, _when_ we win this war against the French it will be because men like _you_ obeyed men like _me_ , and did so without hesitation! We must have order in our ranks; a clear chain of command with leaders and followers! Without such structure there can be no victory, _am I understood?!!_ " A minute after the rabid Bulldog had ceased barking a door was slammed.

From the direction of the officers' buildings came two officers, the same Regular Lieutenant and Militia Lieutenant-Colonel Haytham had eavesdropped on during the blizzard. The Regular grumbled "He's turning away the Indians because of _this_?! Do we have _any_ local scouts?"

The Militiaman said something Haytham couldn't hear.

"And with a baggage train this large plus the artillery, it'll take weeks to travel through the mountains. Why doesn't he just follow the river?"

"We'd be too exposed and we need to maintain the element of surprise."

"George we are more than _two thousand men_!" the Regular spat, "All they need is a single scout! Swiftness will serve us better!"

As night fell Haytham departed Fort Cumberland. Their first infiltration of the fort was successful and the messenger left to deliver their report.

* * *

When Haytham returned to the fort the guards recognised him as the pedlar from earlier that week and waved him through. He continued to visit at predictable intervals, trading hunting spoils as he listened for gossip and sneaking around in restricted areas. Although he was never formally introduced to the officers he was able to learn some names. The Militia Lieutenant-Colonel George was surnamed Washington, his Regular friend was Lieutenant John Fraser; Captain Horatio Gates and Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Gage were two other names Haytham forwarded to the French. Haytham spent most of his time with a wagoner named Daniel Boone, listening to the stories of monsters that were said to inhabit the American frontier.

The Braddock Expedition departed Fort Cumberland on 29 May 1755. They hiked through the heavy forests and mountains west to Fort Necessity and then turned north. The Expedition did not follow the Monogahela River but moved parallel to it, remaining in the thick woods. The roads were uniquely unsuited to artillery and the soldiers had to widen them as they went.

A humble pedlar would be identified as a spy if he were caught moving with the army, so Haytham and his companions secretly followed the British. There was no point in concealing his identity any more so Haytham shaved clean and donned his own clothes once more. With their stalking abilities each member of the party eavesdropped from different positions, then met back at dusk and sent a runner to advise the French of what they discovered.

After five painstaking weeks the Expedition cleared the mountains and were in relatively flat but still heavily wooded terrain. As the army neared Fort Duquense another party of Natives approached the British encampment, and Haytham carefully moved into position to try and discover what was going on. Unfortunately Charles Lee and the Fausett Brothers were amongst those set to watch the Natives and Haytham couldn't afford to be spotted by them.

Fortunately General Braddock's temper again got the better of him. Haytham followed the angry voice to where Gage and Gates were on the receiving end of Braddock's tantrum.

"Let me explain it to you. These are wild lands, as yet untamed and unsettled, but it shall not always be so. In time our holdings will no longer suffice and that day is closer than you think. We must ensure that our people have ample room to grow and further prosper; which means _we need more land_! The French understand this and endeavour to prevent such growth. They skirt around our territory, erecting forts and forging alliances, awaiting the day that they might strangle us with the noose they've built. This must not come to pass! We must sever the rope and send them back! This is why we ride. The French will leave or they will die!"

Braddock's dismissed Gage and Gates, then gave instructions to Washington that Haytham didn't hear. Haytham followed Washington from a distance. As Washington moved through a low-traffic area he ran into Fraser. "Any news?" Fraser asked.

Washington answered "General Braddock refused the offer: there will be no truce."

"Damn it! Why George, what reason did he give?!"

"He said a diplomatic solution is no solution at all. That allowing the French to retreat would only delay an inevitable conflict, one in which _they_ would have the upper hand. There's merit to those words, John."

"Yes, as much as I hate to admit it. But can't he see this is unwise? We're far from home and we have no reinforcements. Worse, I fear Braddock's blood-lust makes him careless. It puts the men at risk. I'd rather not be delivering grim news to widows and orphans because the Bulldog wanted to prove a point."

Haytham stopped listening and slowly returned to his own camp. The discussions he'd listened to over the last few weeks were the final push he needed to make the decision. Edward Braddock was still his superior in the Brotherhood but Haytham was no longer the young novice frightened the slightest misstep would result in disgrace and expulsion. He was himself a Master, expected to set the standard the entire Brotherhood would follow. And above all, the one thing he had never ceased to be was an Assassin.

And an Assassin does not suffer a tyrant to live.


	12. Conduct to the Prejudice

Over dinner Haytham and the Natives shared the information they had gathered, ensuring everyone knew of the information they would be relayed back to Fort Duquense. Before they sent the messenger Haytham announced "To scatter the expedition is not enough. If the leaders escape they're sure to try again."

"What do you suggest?"

"That we kill Edward Braddock." He let his decision sink in. "But first we need to reach him. I'll disguise myself as one of his men. The ambush tomorrow will provide the perfect cover for the killing blow."

Atian grunted "And we couldn't have done this earlier?"

"It wouldn't have made any difference, Atian, except that the British would have realised they were being followed and so changed their route and tactics. If we strike tonight they won't even realise a patrol is missing."

"Not tonight, at dawn. We must sleep before combat." Waapa'maneto was right, of course.

* * *

After breakfast they silently tracked the Expedition's column, ensuring they assaulted the very last rear guards in order to avoid drawing attention. There were five Regulars assembled in a small camp that was suitably isolated from the rest of the column by the massive trees and bushes. Haytham moved amongst the denser foliage, grabbing and stabbing a sentry who wandered too close. Haytham was not concerned with sparing the lives of the British Regulars: the soldiers would kill him on sight unless he killed them first. That was the tragedy of war.

Haytham left the body of the sentry concealed in the bushes. He crept closer to the camp: one officer, two soldiers enjoying breakfast, and two more soldiers on patrol. Haytham gave a whistle to attract one of the patrolmen; only one heard it, the other continued on his normal route. The one who investigated the strange noise didn't know what hit him.

Haytham re-assessed the soldiers' positions. The officer and two soldiers were still eating, the one remaining sentry was concentrating on looking into the distance for invaders rather than keeping track of his comrades. Haytham signalled to the Natives to stab the patrolling sentry; this they did with as much finesse as Haytham himself. Now there were only the three Regulars having breakfast to silence.

Soundlessly Haytham walked to where the three remaining Regulars were lurking. There was no way he could kill all three undetected, so he signalled the Natives to kill the officer while he went for the two soldiers. He let the officer see him as he sneaked behind the two soldiers, bared both Hidden Blades, and simultaneously plunged each of them into the soldiers. Haytham had moved too quickly for the officer to raise the alarm; by the time the man realised what was happening Atian had struck the man with his tomahawk.

As a precaution they dismantled the camp and made it look as though the occupants had already moved on. Only then did Haytham find a suitable soldier and strip him of his uniform; there was a distinct blood stain and dagger hole in the man's back, which Haytham concealed by donning a haversack. Haytham tied a black kerchief around his mouth; many soldiers did the same and it would conceal the distinctive scar on his lip.

Haytham mounted one of the captured horses and walked forward, like any other messenger running between the battalions with an update. As Haytham rode amongst the column, however, he realised most of the infantry were gone. The artillery were still fighting their way through the forest but not the foot-soldiers. Haytham diverted off the road and called "Ziio? Ziio, are you there?"

She stepped out from behind a tree that Haytham had just passed. "What is it?"

"The infantry aren't here and they aren't behind us. That means they must have gone ahead; you need to get word to the French."

Ziio vanished back into the forest and Haytham continued at his walking pace. Aside from not drawing attention to himself, this allowed him to search for Braddock; Haytham had no way of knowing if the man had stayed with the artillery or left with the advance party.

Haytham glimpsed an officer on a white horse and Eagle Vision confirmed a golden aura. He smiled but then the shooting started. Braddock's horse turned and bolted forward; suddenly all the soldiers Haytham had walked past were starting to charge forward. Haytham had to leave the road and let them pass lest he be overrun by the advancing army.

Haytham waited until the soldiers had charged into the fray and then walked through the ranks, still trying to find Braddock. He confined his search to the roads where a horse would be able to reach, trying not to expose himself to the fighting for too long. Haytham nearly missed Braddock, as Edward was no longer on his white horse but a palomino.

Before Haytham could get close enough to attack the Natives leaped out from behind the trees, one even pulling Braddock off his horse. Haytham held back, hoping the Natives would do his work for him, but Edward took the lead in cutting each of them down. It appeared to be courage, as Braddock was utterly unafraid for his own safety; it was actually bloodlust, for Braddock was cutting and shooting in a blind rage. When Braddock struck a poor Militiaman who tried too hard to protect the general, Edward didn't even care.

Braddock mounted a black horse and vanished from sight.

* * *

Haytham found the black horse along the road, collapsed on its side with a shattered leg; he was compelled to put the black beauty out of its misery. He reloaded his pistol and kept looking, even though he couldn't be certain Braddock found a new horse.

What drew Haytham's attention was the voice of Joseph Fausett. He strolled in that direction and realised Joseph was speaking to Braddock, though Haytham couldn't hear what was said until he approached.

" _Have_ served," Braddock grumbled.

"Sir?" Joseph was confused.

"You are grateful to _have_ served!"  To underscore his words Braddock pulled his pistol and fired. Joseph screamed the familiar scream of a man receiving an untreatable mortal wound and fell to the ground. Haytham just rolled his eyes as he stopped his horse at a bend in the road, allowing him to see Braddock on his brown horse. The other Militiamen were too frightened to do anything. Braddock screamed "Hiding in combat is cowardice, no matter how you try to excuse it!!  _Get out there and fight like the men you claim to be!!_ "

The Militiamen saluted and ran. Braddock was too busy watching them go to reload his gun.

Now Haytham had his chance. He walked his horse next to Braddock; it only took Edward a moment to realise who this masked Regular really was. As he steadied his aim Haytham said "Not much fun on the other end of the barrel, is it?"

Then a horse came crashing through the trees: a French rider with his sabre outstretched, aiming to cut down the two Redcoats that were Braddock and Haytham. Haytham started to bring his wrists up in defence (knowing his Assassin Gauntlets would deflect the blow) but a gunshot came from behind and the Frenchman fell from his animal, which continued to run. Braddock had only perceived that Haytham became distracted and in that instant spurred his horse into a gallop, disappearing along the road towards the British forces.

Haytham looked up to see his rescuer. It was Thomas Fausett, who screamed "Get after him! If you don't kill him _I will!!_ "

Haytham nodded in acknowledgement and thanks. No doubt Thomas had witnessed (or at least deduced) what had happened to his brother; but Thomas was on foot and had already fired, unlike Haytham who was still horsed with a loaded gun.

Haytham spurred his horse in Braddock's direction. He couldn't see the general but the main road was the only way suitable for a rider. As Haytham passed the powder carts he fired into them, killing several soldiers and leaving the rest without suitable ammunition; this prevented them from riding after him or relaying the warning that someone was out to kill Braddock.

* * *

Braddock rode along the river's shore—on a second palomino steed, different to the palomino from earlier. Haytham was riding too hard to get a clear shot but Braddock rode right into a collapsing tree trunk the Natives had rigged earlier. The tree struck Braddock's horse and the animal collapsed like a sack of flour; Braddock remained in the saddle but the mount didn't tip over and he was able to simply climb off.

So Haytham rode to point-blank range, drew his pistol and (in the moments before his horse steadied) taunted "Why don't you fight like the man you claim to be?" His horse stopped, his aim perfect, Haytham squeezed the trigger and his own mount collapsed from under him.

Haytham had drilled emergency dismounts to perfection. He got his feet out of the stirrups while simultaneously dropping the reins and his pistol. As he put both hands on the front of the saddle the horse began to fall to the left; Haytham swung his left leg off and pushed to the right so that he wouldn't be pinned by the animal's dead-weight. He landed on the wet, soft mud and rolled away from the fallen creature.

Another part of Haytham's mind processed exactly what happened. When he fired his flintlock _another_ gunshot had come from behind, felling his horse. Although Haytham had fired, the fall had ruined his aim and sent the ball hopelessly wide.

Haytham looked up to see Lieutenant-Colonel George Washington, Braddock's aide-de-camp. He was on his own horse and reloading his flintlock.

"Such arrogance!" Braddock taunted, "I always knew it would be the end of you!  _Is_ the end of you!"

Haytham had no chance to defend himself so he remained in his kneeling position. He locked eyes with Washington as the Colonel took aim with his reloaded musket.

Then someone flew into Washington, knocking the man from his horse and onto the ground. This time it was Washington's shot that went hopelessly wide; the horse reared up and ran from the scene. By the time Haytham had sorted out what happened, Ziio was struggling over the prone Washington.

" _Braddock!!_ " It was Thomas Fausett, screaming over the sound of galloping horses. Haytham squinted with Eagle Vision: two red glows were following a blue. Braddock ran after Washington's horse, mounted and fled. A bone-crunching _thud_ marked Ziio's victory over Washington.

Haytham urged "Hide!" Ziio obeyed and Haytham went to 'minister' to the senseless Washington.

Fausett was galloping on his own horse, chased by two mounted British Militia soldiers. Fausett didn't even try to avoid Haytham and Washington; the only thing that prevented them from being trampled was the corpse of Haytham's horse, which Fausett's mount leaped over. The soldiers behind Fausett slowed; one rode around the commotion and after Fausett while the other stopped, dismounted and joined Haytham at Washington's side.

Haytham waited for the soldier to examine Washington's wounds, then immediately got up and commandeered the horse. The man screamed "Hey! Where are you going?!"

Haytham's only answer was "That Militiaman's trying to kill General Braddock!"

"We know, Sumter's gone to stop him!"

Haytham ignored the protests and spurred the horse forward.

* * *

"Will this day never end?" Haytham muttered to himself once he settled into the gallop. It was a good three hours since the French had ambushed the British, most of which Haytham had spent riding after Braddock. Now he was in one of the strangest chases of his life: running after Braddock who was fleeing from Fausett who was fleeing from another soldier.

At long last Haytham could see the other horsemen were ahead. Fausett looked behind and no doubt recognised Haytham as the man chasing Thomas's pursuer. Fausett looked forward, raised his musket at the target in front of him and fired. Edward Braddock cried in pain and fell to the ground. Fausett dropped his musket then turned his horse into the wilderness.

Haytham screamed "Stay with the shooter! I'll tend to Braddock!" The man in front of him looked behind, nodded in acknowledgement and then went after Fausett.

At last Haytham was alone with Braddock. He pulled his horse to a stop and then walked to inspect the General: the ball had shattered his arm and there was blood on his side but the man was still alive. "Why?  _Why_ Haytham?"

"Your death opens a door, nothing personal. Well, maybe a little bit personal: you've been a pain in my arse after all!"

"But....We are brothers!...."

Haytham let his anger and loathing boil over. He stamped his foot over Braddock's wounded arm (the man gave a blood-curdling scream) and bent low, removing Edward's glove and then the ring marked with the Brotherhood's insignia. "Did you think I'd forgotten what you did? All those innocents slaughtered and for what? It does not engender peace to cut your way to resolution!"

"Oh but it does!" Braddock spat, "If we applied the sword more liberally the world would be a far better place than it is now!"

"In _this_ instance I concur!" Haytham spat as he extended a Hidden Blade and thrust it into Braddock's—

_Bang!!_  The sound of a too-close gunshot startled Haytham and ruined his aim, though the Blade still penetrated deep into Braddock's side. Haytham turned and saw a large party of Natives, armed with everything from muskets to tomahawks, screaming and yelling in their own language. Haytham didn't recognise any of the faces he saw and it was clear this mob would lynch him for the crime of wearing a British uniform.

Haytham stood up, retracted the Hidden Blade and leaped onto his horse, spurring the poor animal as hard as he could. As soon as a musket fired Haytham slumped forward and made it look like he was dead in the saddle. He guided the horse away from the mob, into the trees so that he would be hidden from sight. He waited until he was confident the Natives weren't following him and then emerged.

Although Haytham still had the horse, he was hopelessly lost and the sounds of combat had faded away. The sun was starting to lower in the sky and there was no way he could navigate the forests alone. Haytham back-tracked to where Braddock had fallen: the General was long gone, with only a pool of blood where Haytham had left him.

"Haytham!" It was Ziio, alone and on foot.

He didn't dismount, just waited for her to approach. "Was Braddock killed?"

"They retreated carrying him on a stretcher."

"If he spreads the word that I was responsible...." Fortunately Ziio understood from the look on his face that was a bad thing. He couldn't explain that if Braddock described his attacker as the man with the scarred lip, Haytham would be considered a traitor to the Order.


	13. Deviation

Virtually all the officers of the Braddock Expedition were slain, allowing Haytham to slip in as just another card in the deck. The retreat continued through the night of the assault, all through the next day and well into the evening. Finally the army made camp at a plantation and tended to the wounded. Ziio warned she would be watching unseen from the trees.

Edward Braddock had his own tent, separate from the other officers. Haytham knew the man was conscious when word spread Braddock had issued an order for provisions and medical supplies. Haytham walked to the tent but Charles Lee was there, arguing with Lieutenant-Colonel Washington. "Don't you talk to me like that you provincial hack!"

"These orders come from the doctor!" Washington countered, "General Braddock remains asleep!"

"So where did the orders to Colonel Dunbar come from?!"

Washington sighed. "Lieutenant, those orders were the only ones that made sense. For a while Braddock thought we were carrying him to Fort Duquense for the surrender!"

Lee had no choice but to accept it. " _Fine_. But I need to speak to him the _moment_ he wakes up!" Charles stormed away: it was clear Washington was lucky to escape uninjured.

Haytham posed as a humble guard protecting the tent in order to explain his constant presence near (but never with) Edward Braddock. The stubborn Colonel Washington ensured that only the doctors were permitted to speak directly with General Braddock. If orders were to be relayed Washington would take written notes and forward them, though it appeared Edward had not described his true killer to anyone. Washington's excessive vigilance meant Haytham couldn't get close to Braddock to deliver the death blow, and Haytham would not harm the innocent Washington.

During the second evening Braddock called "Brothers!....Where are my brothers?.... My _true_ brothers!...."

Washington soothed "Tell me their names and I will summon them, General."

"Hah!" Braddock spat, "As if I will give them to you! I know Jumonville wasn't an accident!"

"General?!"

"I know you assassinated him!!"

"No sir!"

"Why do you think I arranged for you to be my aide? Better that I keep _spies_ where I can see them!"

Washington shook his head. "You're feverish, sir."

* * *

Haytham smiled underneath his kerchief as it all made sense. Washington was the man in charge of the Virginia Militia when Joseph Coulon de Villers was ambushed, and there was a rumour that Washington had assassinated the man. The paranoid Braddock saw conspiracy in every setback and would not speak Brotherhood business within earshot of an 'enemy', real or imagined. With Washington constantly at his side Braddock was effectively silenced; with his shattered arm Edward was in no condition to write sealed orders. Disoriented with infected wounds, Braddock never even described his true killer.

Braddock expired the fourth evening after his Expedition was scattered. Once Haytham confirmed the man was gone he whispered "Farewell Edward" and then vanished from the camp. He looked in Eagle Vision for Ziio. "It is done. I've kept my part of the bargain, I hope you will honour yours?"

* * *

Ziio took him to her own camp, where she returned Haytham's normal clothes and equipment. Haytham realised he hadn't slept since the French assault so he slumbered through the night. They travelled through the roads quickly and reached Fort Duquense by the next evening. It transpired Captain Daniel de Beaujeu had been killed in the fighting, so they decided to stay only as long as it took them to obtain equipment.

As they traded the next day Haytham listened to the French perspective of the battle. As Haytham observed, Braddock had sent his infantry ahead of the artillery train. The British infantry stumbled into the surprised French; the latter were actually expecting the British and took the initiative. The Regulars were easy pickings while the Militiamen tried to use the trees and hiding places to avoid incoming fire, the crime for which Joseph Fausett had lost his life. The French and Natives concentrated their fire on the British officers, and as they fell the soldiers fled.

* * *

Ziio explained "We follow the Ohio River east, by horse. It's too shallow for canoes and we'll be moving against its flow." Haytham would have preferred to take three horses, one for each of them and one for their equipment, except the French and Natives had nothing to trade after the battle. Haytham was barely able to find a steed that would support both of them, and even then he couldn't purchase any spare equipment; not for the horse, not for Ziio, not for himself.

They settled back into the familiar routine they used when they travelled together before the Braddock Expedition. Haytham was responsible for making and breaking camp, organising the firewood and water supplies, while Ziio hunted. She always kept the pelts and other spoils of the animals she caught, and this added to their load and thus travel time.

One evening Haytham asked how Ziio came to be this far south, away from the Mohawk lands. Ziio explained that during "King George's War" (as the New Englanders called the American theatre of the War of Austrian Succession) raiders had attacked Ziio's home and taken captives. The Assassins had liberated Ziio and the other prisoners; but by then Ziio knew what the Colonists were doing to America and she could no longer return home any more than she could return to being a child. She stayed with the Assassins for about a year, learning written and spoken English without an interpreter. "They offered to adopt me into your clan, but doing so would have meant submitting to the Colonists. I simply can't do that, not in good conscience."

At last they reached a town named Franklin, where the spoils of Ziio's hunting were traded for three new horses and extra equipment. They couldn't carry enough provisions for the full journey so Ziio would continue to supply them with fresh provisions each day.

They travelled north through the hills around Franklin. Ziio explained "North of here is a great lake occupied by the Erie people. They are Haudenosaunee so even if we do encounter them they should be friendly. We follow Lake Erie east until it takes us to the Ongniaahra and then the Skanadario. When we reach the eastern-most shore of Skanadario we will be in the lands of my people."

* * *

The further they travelled from Franklin the fewer people they saw. It was amazing, walking through land that looked as though it were utterly untouched by any mortal. Ziio was quick to explain that these lands were not virgin and uninhabited: the Natives simply did not embrace a destructive civilisation. That led to a long discussion about the nuances of their respective cultures.

Ziio indicated the eagle motif embroidered on his cuff. "Why the eagle?"

"It's my name. In Arabic Haytham means 'young eagle'."

"A proper name!" Ziio said with a wide smile, "Nithá:kwe'ks is your Kanien'kehá:ka name. Neet-ha-queks."

Haytham practised his translated name carefully; it was about the only Mohawk word he managed to get his mouth around. Then he asked "What's the difference between Mohawk and Khanny-ennie.... _Gya!!_ " They both laughed at his poor pronunciation.

"Kanien'kehá:ka is what we call ourselves, 'People of the place of flint'. Mohawk is what the Algonquin call us: it means 'man-eater'."

" _Oh._  I thought your tribe's totem was the hawk."

Ziio shook her head. "The hawk is totem for another Haudenosaunee clan, and they are not Kanien'kehá:ka."

"I hope you don't mind if I keep using 'Mohawk', it saves my tongue from getting tied up."

"No, actually I like the idea of being named for the hawk. They are the risk-takers, the masters of the air, the ones closest to Sky World." Ziio became serious. "You can see into the spirit world, can't you? That's how you saw through the blizzard. And how you spotted me the night Braddock died."

"We call it Eagle Vision. Those of us who do have it try to keep it secret, lest we inspire the envy and hatred of others.

"There are stories of those with similar abilities amongst my people, but amongst my village at least no-one has ever had it. Or if they did it was too many generations ago."

When Ziio asked about the specifics of Eagle Vision Haytham felt comfortable sharing his secrets. He was keen to explain that even though he had _seen_ her in Eagle Vision it was not because he was _looking_ , just that she happened to enter his field of view when he was using it.

* * *

Ziio asked "Why is your storehouse so special to you?"

"That's a bit of a long story.... According to the ancient tales, the gods created the world and everything in it. Their last creations were the humans, whom they formed as their servants and playthings. No-one knows where the gods went: some say they left because of humanity's sins, others say they granted humans freedom from their creators. Some took human lovers and their descendants have Eagle Vision. But the gods also left behind unique buildings and artefacts. My secret clan believes this storehouse contains such artefacts. May I ask, what are the stories your people tell of the storehouse?"

"They say it was a camp of Iottsitíson, who came into the world and shaped it for what life might come. She had a hard journey, fraught with great loss and peril. But she believed in her children and what they might achieve. And though she is long gone from the physical world her eyes still watch over us. Her ears still hear our words. Her hands still guide us...." Ziio ran her fingers along Haytham's back. "....And....her love still gives us strength." She took his hand.

Haytham gently squeezed her hand back, faced her and tried to speak. When nothing came out he tried to show her the sheer joy her touch gave him; all that came out was amazement, fear, and then pain that words were not being spoken. Desperately he reached for _anything_ to say. "You've shown me great kindness Ziio, thank you."  Keep talking keep talking keep talking.... "I....I should go—"

Even as Haytham spoke Ziio put her other hand on his cheek and pulled his mouth to hers.

* * *

They didn't travel the rest of that day, or the next day. Instead they remained at their isolated camp, savouring each other's presence; scenting, nuzzling and kissing in an effort to forget their time together was limited.

Haytham's cloak enfolded both of them, so that they looked like a two-headed bat roosting next to the campfire. Ziio's hands rested on his, keeping his arms around her as she reclined in his lap. Ziio whispered "You're like me. There's a part of you that you need to keep hidden."

"Because sharing it is painful," Haytham agreed, "And if other people see...."

Under the cloak, Ziio took his hands and interlocked her fingers with his. "You can't leave your clan any more than I can leave mine. Your eagle eyes always look forward, to a future where your secret clan have secured peace, love and honey for all. The problem is I have to look down, to the present where the Colonists break every promise they make."

He kissed her cheek before leaning his face onto hers. "I'm sorry. I wish I could reverse everything our two worlds have done to each other...."

She rubbed her nose on his. "One day we'll fight over it. Then there will be no good memories, only arguments about the blindness of the other."

"The worst thing is you're right." Death he could handle but if their relationship collapsed because of politics Haytham would never forgive himself. Then he realised "It'll take time for us to reach the storehouse. And even after we reach it you'll still have to lead me out of the frontier."

"Months, at least."

"Could we.... At least until after I leave...." Ziio turned in Haytham's lap, sitting across him rather than lying on him. "Could we deliberately avoid the Colonist question? Pretend that everything between us will remain perfect? At least until...."

Ziio gave an understanding smile. "Until you leave." Ziio brushed her lips against the ruined half of his mouth. "We are wife and husband." Her mouth followed the burn line to his chin. "In _every_ possible way." Her wet tongue slid over the scar.

Haytham was only too happy to accept his marital duties.

* * *

Their progress slowed after the wedding, not that Haytham cared. He enjoyed being in the middle of nowhere, free of Assassins and Templars, even if it was only for a little while. He luxuriated in his stolen moments with Ziio; they spoke just to hear each other's voice, on any topic except politics and the end of their journey. And whenever Ziio put her tongue to his scar, it meant they would share more than just blankets.

Lake Erie looked more like an ocean. Haytham couldn't see where the shore curved around, let alone the opposite bank. It took them a week just to reach the eastern-most point of the lake; then Ziio guided them along a river flowing from Erie to the north. "Soon we'll see Ongniaahra, 'the point of land cut in two'."

Haytham's stumbling tongue could only say "O-niagra?"

Ziio laughed. "Close enough."

In simple terms the Ongniaahra was a pair of waterfalls where the contents of Lake Erie flowed north; but this description could not possibly illustrate what a wonder it was. The fall nearest to Haytham was over a thousand feet wide and 500 feet high; it had an island at its crest, forming a narrower, normal-looking fall at one end. The second waterfall, more distant, was a giant horseshoe-shape, a curtain of water that bent along the cliff and was at least three times as wide as the closer fall. So much water flowed they didn't seem to be waterfalls, more like giant flash locks being flooded.

The awe was written plain on Haytham's face. Ziio whispered "Have you seen anything like this before?"

Haytham stood behind Ziio and brought one arm around her waist, then pointed at the first fall. "That narrow part on the right? That's the biggest waterfall you'll ever see in Europe. And see how that one curves? I've never seen a waterfall like that before." Haytham wished he had his drawing tools so he could capture this image forever.

* * *

The Ongniaahra transferred the contents of Lake Erie to Lake Skanadario, which if anything was even larger than Lake Erie. They followed the Skanadario's southern shore east, still taking their time to admire the wonders of America. At last Ziio announced they were in her homeland. Four months had passed since the Braddock Expedition and the seasons were changing all too quickly.

In rugged terrain of thick bushes, giant trees and plentiful wildlife Ziio suddenly announced "This is it. This is the storehouse." Unless you knew what you were looking for, it was only too easy to miss the entrance to the cave. The trees and bushes, combined with the natural rises in the terrain and the rocky surfaces, made it appear as though the cave were just a series of impassible fissures in the rocky hillside. Yet when you stood next to the entrance it was almost five feet at its highest point and about 20 feet across at the widest.

Ziio had carefully chosen the time of day to enter the cave. The natural fissures across the roof allowed the sunlight in apparently unimpeded when the sun rode high. The rocky walls were covered with soil and roots that had broken through the earth. The well-lit cave allowed them to walk in, turn a corner, and then be confronted with a single, solid, artificial wall. Haytham felt compelled to remove his hat in this sacred place, as though it were a temple.

The wall utterly blocked any further passage through the cave. It was covered with lines and glyphs that Haytham recognised as belonging to the amulet. Mohawk-style ochre cave paintings had been added after the Precursors had left. Haytham couldn't help but reach forward; he looked to Ziio, to make sure he was permitted to place his hand upon her sacred wall. Ziio gave a slight nod and Haytham touched an unpainted section—it was artificially smooth and definitely metal, not stone.

There was a small niche-type opening in one part of the wall, eight inches across and a perfect hemisphere, a feature that had obviously been built in and not carved out. When Haytham retrieved the amulet it was glowing a soft blue-green, as though it had detected it had returned home. The closer the amulet came to the lines and glyphs in the wall, the more intensely blue-green the wall glowed.

Ziio whispered something in Mohawk. Haytham took a deep breath and placed the amulet into the niche.

Nothing happened.

He held the amulet in position for as long as he dared. "No.... _No!_ " It had taken him more than a year to get this far and now all the effort he invested was in vain.

Ziio put a soothing hand on his shoulder. "You seem disappointed."

"I thought this was a key that would open something here...."

Ziio took his hand. "This room is all there is."

Haytham's frustration tried to gather into anger but Ziio's simple presence defused it. He gave a defeated sigh and muttered "I expected more...."

* * *

They lingered near the cave, until Haytham was satisfied there were no other entrances. Ziio was anxious to leave; she was not supposed to bring strangers to the sacred site and feared her people would turn hostile if they were discovered. Haytham asked "How far is it to Albany in New York from here?"

"A week."

"I don't suppose you've heard of Fort Johnson? Home of William Johnson of the Bear Clan?"

"Wide man, with red-brown hair?" Ziio tried to imitate Johnson's Irish brogue: "Speaks English with a _very_ strange accent?"

"That's him."

Ziio gave a smile. "You mean Wariaghejaghe. And yes, I can take you to his fort." A flicker of sadness passed her eyes, the understanding that Fort Johnson would be the end of their journey.

Haytham was certain that what he felt for Ziio was love, true and absolute love, but it took more than that to build a successful relationship. Haytham would need to share his innermost being with Ziio completely, allowing it to change in response to Ziio's place in his life. Haytham the bachelor would transform into Haytham the husband, but what would that change mean? An emotional upheaval on par with the death of a loved one? Would it be more painful than simple loss? And what if he didn't like the results of the transformation? Haytham would then live a life of dishonesty to Ziio and to himself, and that would be a fate worse than death.

On the last morning Haytham made his final attempt to muster the courage to stay in America. It would require forfeiting at least part of his innermost self, just as Ziio would sacrifice part of herself to him. The utter terror this involved turned his heart to stone, and then tears came to his eyes when Haytham realised he could not make that sacrifice. Ziio's peaceful, sleeping face was not enough to stop Haytham sobbing like a child.

His weeping caused Ziio to wake. There was no point in denying his tears; he let her embrace him, kiss his cheek in consolation. "What's wrong?"

"I don't love you enough. I can't give up _everything_ for you. But I love you so much that leaving hurts so badly."

"Let me stay with you, as long as you're here. I know you have to return to Europe, I will stay until then."

Haytham signalled his agreement with a kiss. "I have to speak to my secret clan in Albany, I won't be able to bring you with me to that meeting. I'm not ashamed of you, Ziio, I'm ashamed I can't stay with you."

"I understand Haytham, believe me."

* * *

Haytham walked through the familiar grounds of Fort Johnson and knocked on the landlord's home. The butler knew Haytham by sight, invited him in and then went to summon William. After a few minutes Charles Lee appeared: "Master Kenway! We were worried.... Did you find it?"

Haytham looked to the ground. "It was not the right place."

"Captain Pitcairn is here as well; unfortunately we still haven't been able to establish communications with Monsieur de Jumonville."

"Thank you Charles. Please wait outside."

Pitcairn and Johnson hadn't seen him since their last meeting with Braddock and were especially glad to see Haytham. Officially Charles was in Albany preparing for the remnants of the Braddock Expedition, who were being moved to the northern front. The army led by William Johnson had successfully repulsed the French in New York, although Johnson himself had taken a musket ball to the hip. Currently there was a lull in the fighting as winter approached but the war against the French would continue.

Haytham said "Gentlemen, for reasons that will soon become obvious I will begin with the Precursor site. I was able to find a Native guide who said there was only one possible place our storehouse could be. This cave did indeed contain Precursor script and architecture but no hidden chambers opened in response to the amulet. The Natives are certain the cave is the only Precursor site nearby and in any event we don't have the resources to conduct a more thorough survey. If we have the wrong key that means we have to return to our books in Europe. In either case, the only thing we can do now is report our progress to the Masters."

Johnson and Pitcairn agreed. For show Haytham asked after General Braddock; they explained Thomas Fausett had been seen shooting Edward, was arrested and confessed to the crime. Then Johnson and Pitcairn gave reports of their own progress and activities. Again, Haytham was impressed with their abilities. These were men Haytham felt comfortable with, men more interested in true peace than politics. Perhaps he would recruit them for his own inner circle.

At last Haytham announced "I'll petition the Masters to establish a permanent base here and expand our Order. And I believe we can start by welcoming Charles into our fold. He has demonstrated belief in our ideals and diligence in his duties, and such virtue should be rewarded. Are any opposed?"

They shook their heads.

"Very well. Charles. Come, stand." Convention was the candidate stood before the Master with his two remaining sponsors standing behind him, but Haytham wanted William to remain seated due to his wounded leg. Haytham gestured for William to stay put and arranged the tableau so that Charles stood in front of William's chair, and John stood next to William. Haytham patted at his pockets and found the ring he had taken from Edward Braddock's finger. "Charles Lee, do you swear to uphold the principles of our Order, and all that for which we stand?

"I do."

"To never divulge our secrets, nor the true nature of our work?"

"I do."

"And to do so from now until death, regardless of cost?"

"I do."

Haytham produced the ring. "Then we welcome you in our quest for a world of order and purpose. Give me your hand." Haytham slid the ring onto Lee's finger. "You are now a brother of the Templar Order, and may the Father Of Understanding guide you."

Johnson and Pitcairn chorused "May the Father Of Understanding guide you!"


End file.
